


conduct our hearts

by serendipitousDescent



Series: heart [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, OT4, Polyamory, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 109,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitousDescent/pseuds/serendipitousDescent
Summary: Marks always start out small and simple, changing with time into something beautiful and complex. Or sometimes the opposite, paring itself down as the relationship between soulmates falls apart.Most only have one Mark, starting off as an oval on their collarbone or a square on their ankle. But not everyone falls into that pattern, regardless of perceptions, and many have more Marks or none, as varied as can be.Koutarou, Keiji, Tetsurou and Kei are one such variation, their three Marks each seeping into almost every aspect of their lives.





	1. i: Bokuto Koutarou

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been slowly consuming my life for the past couple months now. Fair warning now, updates will probably be a bit slow at the beginning here. While this chapter is not too long, the next one is about 8000 words, and I'm pretty sure that trend's going to continue. 
> 
> Also, I'm currently in Germany, and will continue to be here for another month, which means my free time is minimal, as I'm not usually in Germany. Plus, there's Overturn, which has been burning in the background for over two years now. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this though, especially because it's the first hq fic I've written! I also have a couple other installments in the same universe that I've been working on as well <3

One person with three Marks isn’t normal. 

Not that having three Marks is the strangest thing about him, but it is up there. Koutarou can grin at the other kids, can talk at them as much as he wants, but for the most part, they just ignore him. There are a couple, mostly from the year above him, that talk to him, usually only to ask why he has three Marks. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Koutarou demands, pulling his shoulders back as he stares upwards. “Three Marks just means that more people will love me.” 

The other kid, his name and class easily forgotten, shoves him, hardly blinking when Koutarou falls to the ground. “But everyone else only has one!” 

“That’s not even true!” 

“Yeah, well,” the kid says, faltering briefly, “maybe you only have three because one person can’t handle you by themselves!” 

Koutarou picks himself back up off the ground with a scowl. “They’re still mine.” 

The other kid is the one who throws the first punch, and Koutarou freezes at the sight of knuckles only inches from his face. Next comes the sharp, blinding pain, and liquid running from his nose. That doesn’t stop him from returning the favour, as he blinks the tears burning the backs of his eyes away. 

None of the others on the playground back up his explanation of what happened though, and it ends up being dismissed as a childish squabble started by both of them. His teacher gives him a disappointed look when she tells his parents that he’s suspended for a week. It must be a similar feeling to being told the world is going to end. His hands clench in his lap, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks now.

.

.

.

“So, you’re sure that you don’t want to cover them up then?” his father asks, a couple days into his suspension. His nose still aches from that punch, even if the ice doesn’t really do anything to help.

Koutarou doesn’t have to spend any time wondering what his father is talking about. It doesn’t matter that they’re in the middle of making lunch, or that no one has brought up his Marks in days. He glances down at his left arm, considering. 

Right now, his Marks are just three small, undetailed circles. There isn’t really anything special about them, other than how many he has. Koutarou normally notices the one on the inside of his wrist before the others. Not that there are any differences between the three Marks, it’s just that his wrist is a lot easier to see than his shoulder or the inside of his elbow. 

“Why?” he asks, instead of answering. 

His father grimaces, setting the knife down on the counter and kneeling down beside Koutarou. That is never a good sign. “You know why that kid picked a fight with you, don’t you?” 

Koutarou rolls his eyes and ignores the faint twinge of irritation. “Yeah, it was because he’s a jerk.”

Before Koutarou even finishes speaking, his father is shaking his head. “No, that isn’t it. Or at least, that’s not the entire reason.” 

“Then what is it? The other kids just stare a lot, but they’re dumb anyways,” he mutters.

“You noticed that? Right, no, of course you did.” His father messes up his hair with a small smile, and Koutarou holds back a laugh. “The other kids aren’t stupid, though. It’s the entire situation that’s a little bit stupid. They think that you having three Marks is somehow different from them having one Mark, even if they can’t really explain why. I think they’re probably a bit scared of that.” 

“That _is_ stupid.” 

His father is the one to laugh this time, as he slowly stands back up. “I guess that means you still don’t want to cover them up?” 

“Of course I don’t! They’re all mine.”

.

.

.

Regardless of the explanation, Koutarou doesn’t really understand why things change after that.

Or he does understand part of it. A couple of his classmates see the kid who punched him before anyone sees Koutarou, which also means they see the other kid’s swollen eye before it heals properly. By the time Koutarou gets to go back to school, his own bruises have faded away to almost nothing, making the entire situation worse. 

Even the few friends that Koutarou had made before the fight stop talking to him. Once he adds that into the volleyball game his parents brought him to a couple months before, devoting his life to the sport becomes a simple decision. Memorizing the positions is far easier than any of his schoolwork too.

Nothing feels more satisfying than the moment his hand hits the ball, except maybe the sound the ball makes when it slams into the floor. Koutarou still has problems though. Spiking the ball requires someone else to set it for him, and even if they had club activities in elementary school, no one would set for him anyways. That leaves him to attend as many lessons as his parents let him sign up for, plus a few more he squirms his way into. 

“What’s up with him?” a boy in one such lesson asks. 

Koutarou is almost too preoccupied with staring after the ball he just missed, heartbroken, to notice. Something about the tone catches his attention anyways. 

Another kid, one who has been to almost as many lessons as Koutarou has, snorts. “That’s just Bokuto. He’s always like this.” 

“Always?” 

“Uh-huh.” The second kid casts a look in Koutarou’s direction, before grinning. It makes Koutarou wish that he never fulfills his goal of being a world-class setter. “Something is seriously off about him. Besides, have you seen his Mark?” 

“Yeah, it’s on his wrist.” 

“That’s actually just one of his Marks. I’ve seen him around before, and sometimes you can see his other two as well.” 

“Oh, that’s weird.” 

“I know, right?” 

Koutarou holds back the urge to scream. His next spike goes over the net this time, but it also slams into the ground on the other side with a loud bang that makes everyone stare. Not that it counts as a point for his team. It’s far too out of bounds for that. 

It’s somewhere around then that he starts counting down the days until he gets to go to junior high. What Koutarou really wants is a team. Or at least one person who won’t care about stupid things, like how he has more Marks than most people do. He has more people who will be there for him than most people. 

Sixty-five days turns into sixty-four days, and so on and so forth, until he actually starts junior high. Only that junior high doesn’t end up being any better than elementary school.

The only thing that really changes is that Koutarou is allowed to join the volleyball team. None of the first years are allowed to play first string, but there is a group of first years who regularly play three-on-three matches against one another, and Koutarou is one of those. Those matches quickly turn into the highlight of his day, even if the others won’t actually talk to him before or after practice. 

He doesn’t really blame them. No one talks to him, not if they can help it. There aren’t any more rumours about him punching someone for asking about his Marks, but there are still three Marks on his arm. Three Marks that he loves more than anything else in the world, if only someone cared enough to ask. The problem is that no one does, not anymore. People will stare and then avoid him, without actually giving him the opportunity to explain that he will love all three of his soulmates. 

In his own way, Koutarou already does love them. If he can ignore the looks for now, then he will meet his soulmates, and love them for more than just being a Mark on his arm. Then his Marks will even grow into something more, something big and expansive that drowns out the chatter of the world. 

“Why don’t you just cover them up?” 

Koutarou looks up from his haphazardly written notes. His heart briefly jumps up into the back of his throat before he covers it up with a grin. “Cover what up?” 

“Your Marks,” the girl insists. 

“Why would I do that? They’re important to me.” 

The corners of her mouth tighten. It is a look that Koutarou knows well, although it isn’t often that he sees it off of the court: a challenge. A couple of her friends are watching as well, whispering to themselves from the corner of the room. 

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to see them. It’s bad enough that everyone knows how weird you are, you shouldn’t go flaunting it around,” she says, as if it’s as simple as that. 

She is the type of person who will use his Marks against him. 

Koutarou doesn’t let his grin falter. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember her name, or that he’s never forced anyone to look at his Marks, she’s still standing in front of him. The last time something like this happened, Koutarou punched someone and nobody would talk to him until he graduated. 

He is never going to go through something like that again. “I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.” 

“What exactly is unclear?” she snaps. 

“Well, they’re my Marks, aren’t they?” The words settle into his skin, and Koutarou brightens at his own truth. “And if not covering them up means I’m showing them off, then you are too!” 

His classmate recoils, her mouth slackening. 

Koutarou has no intentions of giving up. “Besides, I want to show them off. Having three Marks means that I’ll have three people to love, and I don’t want any of them to feel left out. Plus, I want to know when I meet them as soon as I can, not hours - uh, hey, where are you going?” 

She is already storming back towards her seat, leaving Koutarou alone at his desk once more. The small group of other girls huddled in the corner immediately try talking to her, only to be turned down, and Koutarou turns back to his notes with a shrug. He only said the truth.

.

.

.

The rest of his first year goes by in the blink of an eye. Him and the rest of the first years are delegated to cheering at both Inter-High and Spring High, because their second and third years are already such a strong team.

His desire to go out on the court and play a real match, is almost bursting by now. It occupies his thoughts more and more, right up until he almost stops noticing his classmates ignoring him or the spikes he misses during practice. If they just give him one chance, then they’ll see how valuable his role on the team is. 

Then the third years graduate. It should be Koutarou’s chance to become a regular. He practices far more than the other newly-appointed second years, is almost capable of delivering a better spike than their third year ace. That alone should guarantee him a spot. 

It doesn’t. 

At the end of the day, volleyball is a team sport, and Koutarou can just barely convince a timid first year that it’s alright to toss to him sometimes. What he says doesn’t seem to change anything, and neither does offering to buy them meat buns on the way home. The coach occasionally gives him this weird look, some sort of frown but not quite, always when they’re discussing team placements. 

Koutarou just doesn’t fit anywhere. His parents offer to let him transfer to another school, one where he might fit in a bit better, but being a transfer student now would probably just make things worse. Besides, he’s come this far. Giving up now, when there’s still so much more he can do, so much more he can prove, will feel like defeat. 

No, it will be defeat. 

Only nothing changes. 

Nothing changes with one crucial exception. His team is forced to make him a reserve spiker once he enters his last year of junior high. None of the new underclassmen can get past blockers the same way Koutarou can, and nor do they have the same endurance. It’s still a close call between Koutarou and a second year. 

At the end of the day, the second year has a bad attitude that makes him difficult to work with. That makes him just slightly more annoying in a game than Koutarou apparently is. 

They don’t end up needing him for Inter-High, but just standing on the side of the court feels like a win, even when they lose. 

Koutarou is too close to actually playing volleyball for it to feel like anything else. Finally, this is his team, and his effort behind them. Enough so, that leaving the team now is impossible, even though he should focus on entrance exam. It isn’t like a school is going to give him an invitation when he hasn’t actually played in an official match, at least not yet. 

Then it happens. 

Spring High is everything he built it up to be. 

Almost a week before the tournament, one of the official wing spikers lands badly after blocking the ball and sprains his wrist. The only one who can fill that hole is Koutarou, now, and the rest of the team is forced to accept him. If he doesn’t synchronize properly with the rest of the team now, then they’ll lose. If Koutarou doesn’t act on this chance, then he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

.

.

.

His hand hits the ball. The toss is off, but it isn’t any worse than some of the other tosses he’s gotten over the years.

It slams into the ground, the eighth or ninth point he’s scored just in this set, and Koutarou gasps for breath once his feet touch the ground. Long moments pass before the cheering registers, his hands stinging. They sting first from hitting the ball, and then from the high fives the team gives him. 

They win. 

Koutarou just won in his first, official volleyball match. 

His voice joins in with everyone else’s, no words behind the cheers. They’re going to the quarterfinals, and they’re going because Koutarou hit that last spike in the last set. Someone puts an arm around his shoulders, his cheering slowly changing to elated laughter. Nothing will ever beat this feeling. 

There are people watching from up in the stands, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. Perhaps he should, because there’s a second year from a school he’s only heard of in passing watching, but the elation narrows his focus down to just the court. 

They lose their next match, defeated by the team that takes the championship. That loss does nothing to erase the ease with which the rest of the team talks to him, their shoulders occasionally brushing and laughing high fives freely given. This is the team that Koutarou had been aiming towards, the one that he had always been just outside of.

.

.

.

“We think you’ll be a good fit for Fukurodani Academy.”

The school representative doesn’t so much as blink at the way Koutarou gapes at him. That would probably be a bit more worrying, if Koutarou were anything other than completely blown away. Just being pulled into the teacher’s office for anything other than his abysmal grades is surprising, nevermind talking to the representation of a powerhouse school. 

Koutarou almost resigned himself to going to the high school in his neighbourhood. Their volleyball team is mediocre, at best, but he also thought he didn’t have much of a choice. There is only so much he can do at once, and studying almost always falls to the wayside. 

“Uh,” he says, his brain as far from online as it could possibly be. “Wait, what?” 

The Fukurodani Academy representative smiles politely. “If you want it, there is a place for you at Fukurodani. The volleyball team here did nothing to bring out your full potential. That much became clear at this year’s Spring High, but we’re hoping at we’ll be able to do what this team was unable to.” 

“I, uh, guess I got a couple of good hits in?” Koutarou has been talking about those hits for nearly a month now, and yet suddenly he can’t remember a single one of them. “But I didn’t end up playing too much.” 

“You played enough for Fukurodani’s captain to recommend you as a candidate for our sports scholarship.” 

“Scholarship?” 

The representative nods. 

It takes a long moment for the meaning of that word to sink in, but when it does, Koutarou’s face slowly splits into a wide grin. 

The captain of a powerhouse school saw him play in a junior high tournament and thought he was good. No, not just that he was good, but good enough that he wants Koutarou to play on his team next year. It’s like someone took all of the hopes and dreams he’s had these past three years, and then shoved them all into this one moment. 

“So, you’re really sure that you’re here to talk to me, right?” 

“You are Bokuto Koutarou, aren’t you?” 

Koutarou nods, quickly. 

“Then, I haven’t made any mistakes,” the representative answers. 

His head tips back with his laughter, the sound echoing through the room as he runs a hand through his hair. “This is the most perfect thing I’ve ever come across!” 

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes, of course!” Koutarou falters briefly. “I mean, I guess I should talk to my parents first, and all that. They probably wouldn’t be too happy if I didn’t tell them first. But that doesn’t matter, even if they say no, I’m sure I can bring them around eventually!” 

The school representative nods, understanding. “We will contact them ourselves in the next day or so, as well, in order to get you accepted into the school as quickly as possible.” 

“Woah.” 

“There are still a few strings that can be pulled, if they’re not immediately as certain as you are.” 

“That’s so cool. Everything about this is so cool. But, uh, what about my Marks?” 

The representative casually glances down at the circle on Koutarou’s wrist. The other two Marks are hidden by his school uniform, but neither does he appear surprised by the plural. “Are they something that needs special consideration?” 

“I don’t think so?” Koutarou asks, touching his wrist gently. “I mean, they don’t bother me or anything, but sometimes people are uncomfortable, and I-” 

“Fukurodani Academy has strict policies against bullying, and we hope to encourage the growth of all of students. Quite often, that means encouraging students to appreciate experiences that do not match up with their own,” the representative says, as if repeating it back from a textbook. 

Koutarou blinks, automatically leaning back as he tries to process what that even meant. It sounds like nonsense, but the representative spoke like there had to be some sort of meaning behind it. 

“The school just wants to make sure its students are comfortable, regardless of whether they have three Marks or none.”

.

.

.

His parents agree.

They don’t even end up discussing pros and cons, like they normally do when it comes to big decisions like this. All they do is take one look at him, another at each other with these odd, amused looks, and then say yes. That Koutarou had nearly ran home with the news, overflowing with excitement to the point where he could barely explain helped.

It turns out that Fukurodani isn’t actually that far away from home. Not that it matters, because Koutarou does end up getting that sports scholarship, and that is more important than the distance, anyways. 

In celebration, Koutarou is also allowed to enroll in one of the volleyball camps he’s been wanting to go to. It isn’t the longest camp that Koutarou has gone to, not by a long shot, but it is in the next town over. He normally wouldn’t even consider it, but they have a professional volleyball player coming in to help train the almost high school students, and that is just too good of an opportunity to miss. 

Koutarou still feels a bit like he’s going to burst out of his skin, when he boards the train. Everything has been excitement and good news for weeks, final exams only taking a fraction of that away from him. 

Then someone shoves him forward, just a few inches or so, and his ability to see free seats suddenly disappears entirely. Koutarou stands there for a good, long moment, stumbling backwards a bit when the train starts to move again. A free seat fills his vision as soon as he steadies himself, a window seat just a couple of feet away. Actually, most of the seats on the train are empty, and his cheeks burn slightly as he sits down. 

It only takes a moment for his fingers to drift towards his left wrist, mindlessly tracing his Mark. The motion is simple and calming, just an easy circle that is in complete contrast to the way his knee won’t stop bouncing up and down. At the best of times, keeping still is difficult. Right now is about as far from the best of times, when it comes to keeping still. Too much is going on, and he has too many other things coming up that he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to deal with. 

The train stops four or five times before it starts to get crowded, and someone eventually sits down next to him. Their legs are almost long enough that their knees press up against the seats in front of them, knees awkward and thin. Normally, Koutarou would start up a conversation because of that alone, but today is definitely more of a day for staring wordlessly out the window. 

Not that the stranger seems to get that memo. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, peering over at Koutarou. 

Koutarou finally lets himself look over, and blinks at the barrage of messy hair, long limbs, and narrow features, eyes like a cat’s. “I... don’t think so?”

“No, I definitely do.” Cat Eyes grins, the corner of his lips lifting up into an almost-smirk. “Your crosses are amazing.” 

His jaw drops, and a finger is immediately pointed towards Cat Eyes. “How do you know that?”

“You were at this year’s Spring High, weren’t you? I couldn’t play, because I needed to study for my entrance exam, but my best friend is still on the team.” Cat Eyes sways to the side, but Koutarou’s accusatory finger follows. “You should watch out for Nekoma’s amazing middle blocker, Kuroo Tetsurou, though.” 

“Never heard of you before.” 

“That’s only because I don’t start at Nekoma until next week. So, you’ll have to wait until Inter High to see how inspiring my blocks are.” 

There won’t be any official matches for months still. Koutarou hesitates, however briefly. In terms of actually playing volleyball, participating in Spring High really did nothing to curb his desire to be on the court. “How about we get off at the next stop, and have our own match instead?” 

“Oh? Is that a plan I’m beginning to hear there?”

Koutarou grins back at Kuroo, as he reaches down for his bag. “The best plan, I promise!” 

One of his Marks catches his gaze.

He stops.

No way could he have missed something like this. Koutarou straightens back up again, his bag forgotten as the train comes to a stop. The Mark on the inside of his wrist isn’t the same as it had been this morning. Two of its sides have narrowed down into sharp points, an unfamiliar sight on his skin. 

Koutarou turns his wrist, just enough to let Kuroo see his Mark as well. “Uh, so, it looks like there’s a small chance that we’re, I think, soulmates?”

Kuroo falls silent, his grin fading. Then it comes back full-force with a challenge written beneath it. “Do you try to play volleyball with all of your potential soulmates, then? I admit, that’s a strategy I approve of.” 

“I wish! I could have played so much volleyball. That’s definitely something I’ll have to keep in mind for next time, though, because it’s great.” The train starts to move again, just in time for Koutarou to shake the potential idea from his head. “That isn’t what I meant, though. My Mark was just a circle before, and now it’s not, but you’re also the only person I’ve talked to since I left the house this morning. Isn’t that how this thing works?” 

“There’s only one way to check.”

There isn’t an opportunity to ask what Kuroo is talking about before he shrugs off his light jacket, then pulls up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Koutarou’s breath catches at the dark Mark clear against pale skin. More accurately, at the Marks, because the three lines are just far enough apart that they’re clearly not just one Mark. Two of them are the same length and width, but it’s the third one that catches Koutarou’s attention. It’s longer than the others and gently veers off to the side. The Mark is only a line, but it’s his line. 

Any brief doubt Koutarou had about the Mark being his is gone. Kuroo having two other Marks only makes that all that more certain. He stops for a moment, and then quickly shoves his own sleeve up. There aren’t any changes to his other two Marks though, just like how it doesn’t look like Kuroo’s other Marks have changed. 

Kuroo doesn’t bother to hold back his laugh. “Just how many of those things are you hiding?” 

“I only have the three,” Koutarou says, simply. His eyes narrow, his knees bumping against Kuroo’s as he shifts in his seat. “Why? You’re not hiding any other Marks, are you?” 

“Well, my best friend does like to call me sneaky.” Kuroo raises his eyebrows suggestively, the joke breaking the moment he does. “I’m not that sneaky though. At least, not unless my new soulmate feels the need to make sure and check me over.” 

“Thank, but I’m good.”

“Wait, really?” 

Koutarou shrugs. “Even if you did have another Mark, I’m sure we could figure something out, right? Like, if you’re already in a relationship, then it’s totally up to you to decide what you want to do. We just met, so it would be weirder if I made you say something to them like, ‘I just met this random dude on the train, and now we probably shouldn’t talk anymore,’ wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a good guy, aren’t you…?” Kuroo waits purposely. 

Koutarou fills in the blank almost immediately, beaming at the praise. “Bokuto Koutarou! And I like to think so, but I don’t know if anyone else agrees.” 

“Dude, not cool.” 

“It doesn’t really bother me. Besides, it doesn’t even matter anymore, because I just got this scholarship to Fukurodani Academy and that’s going to be amazing.” 

Kuroo raises his eyebrows again, this time looking appropriately impressed. “Fukurodani? Isn’t that some sort of powerhouse school?” 

“Yeah, they pulled some strings or something to get me in, because I didn’t take their entrance exam, and got scouted a bit late in the season. Still, awesome.” 

“Nekoma is better.” 

“No way.” 

That Koutarou has never actually been to Fukurodani yet doesn’t stop him from launching into an argument about which school is better. They only end up stopping once they realize they’ve both missed their stops, and have to get off and wait for the train going in the opposite direction. A goodbye never comes, not until the end of the day, long after they realize they’ve registered for the same training camp.


	2. i: Akaashi Keiji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the amazing response so far! Also, I know I said that it would probably be a while between chapters last time, but I actually mean it now. Because I don't have another 8000+ words to fall back on anymore, regardless of how much I've worked on this.

“C’mon, why don’t you just show me?” 

Keiji rolls his eyes. “I just don’t want to. Marks are really important to you, so it won’t be just showing you.” 

“Would too!” Senjiro announces, offended. 

It definitely wouldn’t be. The only thing Senjiro talks about more than Marks and soulmates is volleyball. Not that caring about Marks is a bad thing, just that Senjiro also cares about what people’s Marks are.

Keiji ignores the proclamation and goes back to searching through the bushes for their volleyball. It had veered off in this direction, but he can’t actually see it now that they’re here. This is the last volleyball they have between the two of them too. If they don’t find it now, then they won’t be able to practice for their junior high volleyball club for a long time. At least, his mother has sworn off buying more volleyballs for them until the end of the month. There’s also the chance that Senjiro’s parents will give into his begging if it comes down to it.

His shorts catch on a branch as Keiji starts climbing through the bushes and he absentmindedly tugs them back up. The ball has to be around here somewhere and walking around the bushes doesn’t seem to be helping. 

Keiji stops and grins to himself. There’s the volleyball, tucked underneath some particularly prickly-looking twigs but there nonetheless. 

“Hey,” he says, looking over his shoulder, “can you help me with this?” 

Senjiro jumps, startled out of his thoughts. “Of course, just give me a moment!”

.

.

.

Something changes between them. Keiji doesn’t quite know what it is, even if he can narrow where it started down to that afternoon.

On paper, Senjiro acts the same as usual. They meet up after school and play volleyball everyday, normally just tossing the ball back and forth until one of them drops it. Weekends are spent mostly together, rather than apart. At school, they take the parts of each other’s lunches that the other doesn’t like. There doesn’t seem to be any reasonable explanation for what Keiji thinks is going on. 

It lasts all of three weeks before Keiji cracks. The walk over to Senjiro’s house from his own is filled with wild stories about what exactly changed between them, and why. Any thoughts of demanding to know the answers leave him once he reaches Senjiro’s room, instead flopping down onto the bed with a purposeful sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” Senjiro asks immediately, glancing up from his crumpled sports magazine. 

Keiji sighs again, putting even more emphasis on the exhale. “I want to know what I’ve done wrong.” 

“Uh.” 

That isn’t the response he expected. Keiji sits up again and frowns at Senjiro’s wide-eyed expression. It’s the same look Senjiro gives his parents when he doesn’t want to admit they almost left the neighbourhood in their attempt to find a better place to play volleyball. Or, occasionally, the same look he gets when that girl from Class 3 tries to talk to him. 

“You mean there’s actually something?” Keiji asks, sharply. 

“Of course not!” Senjiro hesitates, a bit too obvious, and then finally puts down his magazine so Keiji can look him in the eye. “Well, I guess you haven’t done anything yourself. It isn’t like you get to choose who your soulmate is.” 

“What-” Keiji swallows the rest of his own question, the words turning sour in his mouth. 

Senjiro is a lot of things, and his obsession with volleyball is a large part of why him and Keiji get along so well. There are few other things that Senjiro really cares about but one of them is people’s Marks, especially his own. One of the things he hasn’t mentioned at all these past few weeks is Keiji’s Mark. 

Out of everything, that should have been Keiji’s first clue, not the last. He abruptly stands up and storms out of the room, Senjiro’s bedroom door slamming behind him. Senjiro’s parents do nothing to stop him from leaving the house, don’t even bother to say goodbye to him. 

By the time Keiji gets back out to the street, his Marks feel almost like they’re being burned into his right thigh. He knows they aren’t actually burning. Marks don’t really feel like anything, not even the three X’s that Keiji was born with and that were apparently enough to stop Senjiro from wanting to be friends with him. But if his Marks were enough to make this happen, Keiji doesn’t really know if they were friends in the first place.

.

.

.

“Keiji, come on, let’s go play volleyball.”

Keiji closes his eyes at his brother’s antics. Small, grubby hands tug at the back of his shirt in response, and it makes him want to roll back over and snap. The only thing that stops him is the desperate hope that ignoring Akiro will make him go away faster. At least, that’s what his mother always tells him to do, even if it’s never worked before. 

Akiro’s grip on his shirt just gets more insistent. “We haven’t played together for weeks now, Keiji.” 

“Just leave me alone,” he says, desperate. 

“But you never do anything these days!” Akiro finally gives up on tugging at his shirt, but Keiji is only rewarded a moment’s relief before he climbs up onto the bed. “Mom says that if I can get you out of the house, she’ll buy another volleyball.” 

Keiji groans as Akiro climbs on top of him. “And what if I don’t want another volleyball? What if I don’t like volleyball anymore?” 

“You love volleyball though,” Akiro says, so simply that Keiji has no choice but to pay attention. 

Senjiro is the one who first got Keiji into volleyball. It started with a couple tosses in Senjiro’s backyard, using an old, almost flat ball they found in the house. Then Senjiro invited him over for a weekend, and they ended up watching the national game on TV for almost an entire day before they were kicked outside.

That was all it took for Senjiro’s dream to become playing as a spiker. He wanted to be the one who hit the ball over the net, the one who everyone cheered for, and he wanted Keiji to be his setter. It was a plan that Keiji quickly got on board with. If they practiced enough, and if they continued on to the same schools, than they would make it to Nationals one day. With the way things are between them now, there’s almost no chance that they’ll make it anymore. 

Only, maybe Senjiro isn’t the only one with a dream. Keiji really has been doing nothing but sitting around since what happened between him and Senjiro but his fingers crave the feeling of a volleyball. Besides, the thought of never playing volleyball again hurts even more than not seeing Senjiro again does. 

“If I play with you,” Keiji starts, his tone pointed, “than you better try spiking some of my tosses.” 

Akiro brightens immediately. It takes him all of a second to scramble off of the bed again and start tugging him towards the door, ignoring the big, glaring ‘if’ in Keiji agreeing. “I lied, actually. Mom picked up a new volleyball on her way home from work yesterday.” 

“You’re going to get into trouble if you keep lying to people like that.” 

Akiro just laughs, too thrilled by the prospect of playing volleyball to care about Keiji nagging him.

.

.

.

Starting junior high really isn’t as exciting as everyone made it out to be.

They’re allowed to join clubs now, but Keiji always planned on joining the volleyball club. That much hasn’t changed since what happened with Senjiro, but Senjiro also isn’t there when he lines up with the other first years on the first day of club activities. It’s impossible not to think about his childhood friend when he introduces himself. Senjiro is a lot of things, but Keiji didn’t think he was the sort of person who would give up. 

It doesn’t take long for him to forget about Senjiro though. Volleyball quickly becomes a link with far more people than Senjiro, and practicing regularly with a team is a lot more difficult than he expected. Keiji wakes up early for morning practice four days a week, and then stays late for evening practice most days as well. 

His classes are a bit more difficult but not by much. Keiji certainly doesn’t have any problems keeping up in them, and he even makes a few friends there. They usually want to hang out though, and most of his time is spent either playing volleyball, doing his homework, or sleeping. It gets a bit easier as the year goes on and he gets used to the pace of practice and school, allowing him to take occasional breaks to spend time with them. 

None of his new friends know about his Marks. 

They are never given the opportunity to know. His parents buy him a cover shortly after the incident with Senjiro, and he starts wearing it religiously. There are other people at school who wear covers as well, at least now that they’ve moved up from elementary school. The best thing is that one cover hides three Marks just as easily as it does one. Nobody really asks to see his Mark either through some silent agreement that looking at people’s Marks is something that goes both ways. 

It isn’t until the very end of his first year that Keiji gets a regular position on the volleyball team. Both the official and the reserve setters have to retire to focus on high school entrance exams, leaving him as the most capable to be the new official setter. A dream come true doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

Being on the court is addictive. Keiji had expected that much, but not the extent or the exact feeling. The wing spikers talk about the feeling of hitting a ball over the net or getting a good toss, but it isn’t quite like that. 

More accurately, when Keiji is on the court, he can see everything. The world slows down to a speed where he can deal with every possibility presented to him, where he can deal with everything a bit more easily. Now that he knows what this feels like, the chances of him ever leaving this sport are next to none. Not when he’s in control on the court. 

They only make it to the second round at Inter-High. Everyone is still a bit rough around the edges, and they get paired up against the team set to win the entire tournament. 

Those are just excuses though, rather than bad timing and coincidence. 

“All of you played a great game,” the captain tell all of them, after they step off of the court. “We just had some bad luck this time around.” 

“We did the best we could,” someone else agrees. 

His stomach sinks as he looks around at his team. 

The corners of his eyes are burning, both from tears and from the need to do better and be better. Losing is difficult, like a hole in his chest. A couple of his teammates are looking away, but it’s nothing compared to the way his hands won’t quite stop shaking. 

“Akaashi, are you alright?” their libero asks him. 

Keiji shakes his head. “There’s… so much more we could have done.” 

“How?” 

They just don’t understand.

.

.

.

Spring High ends the same way Inter-High did, with meaningless excuses and a growing hole of disappointment in his chest.

Keiji has put in more than enough work this time around, and all of them are finally working as a team. They don’t even lose against a stronger team this time. Instead, Keiji gets hit in the face with the ball halfway through the game, and gets a bloody nose that just won’t stop. Their reserve setter, Ishikawa, is fairly good, but he’s also a first year with no real experience on the court, outside of the occasional practice match. The other team has no problems stealing back the lead from there.

By the time the bleeding stops, the entire game is over and all Keiji can feel is the familiar burn of frustration. He didn’t even get a proper chance to fight in this tournament, not really. 

The captain catches the look on his face almost immediately, and tries for a smile. It falls short by a good mile. “What were you going to do, Akaashi? Sometimes these things just happen.” 

“If it had been up to me, I would have kept on playing until my jersey was covered in blood,” Keiji says, bluntly. 

It makes the captain laugh, just like it was supposed to. Not that Keiji is joking in the slightest. “You would have ended up passing out from blood loss, and then we’d be down a setter for much longer than half an hour.” 

“Not if I won the match first.” 

The captain laughs again, but the sound is slow and awkward now. Nobody seems surprised when Keiji announces his decision to stay and watch the rest of the matches. Going over their own matches won’t happen until tomorrow at the earliest, if it happens at all, and Keiji can’t quite bring himself to leave just yet. 

He ends up in the bleachers. There’s a game going on still, the match far too close. Neither of the teams spark his memory, meaning he hasn’t gone up against them before, but recon isn’t why he’s watching in the first place. Keiji just wants to feel the rush of being on the court for a few minutes longer, even if it means enjoying the sensation through someone else. 

One of the spikers manages to hit a poorly-tossed ball over the net. As soon as it hits the floor on the other side, the spiker starts to cheer, his hands up high above his head. His teammates don’t pay him any attention, but it doesn’t matter. 

Skill like that shines through, regardless of teamwork. 

But, at the end of the day, it’s teamwork that draws out people’s best potential. Keiji grips his pants, and wishes he had been the one behind that spiker instead. Between the two of them, they certainly would have made it work.

.

.

.

“Well, I’m mostly certain I know how this is going to go down,” the coach says, as the decently-sized group of second years huddle in the club room, “but the final say is still up to you lot.”

Keiji looks around the room, a frown tugging at his mouth. A couple of the others are nodding, but nobody else looks particularly surprised by this proclamation. He hasn’t given much actual thought to who their next captain will be. He hasn’t thought about much other than training as much as he can. 

Nobody can prepare for a bloody nose, but there are many more situations that he needs to think about. 

The libero puts up his hand first. “I nominate Akaashi.” 

Keiji freezes. 

Someone else nods, and it takes Keiji a moment to recognize him as the middle blocker who almost never shows up to practice. “Seconded.”

“Do you even get to vote?” one of the wing spikers mutters. 

“Were you going to nominate someone else?” 

“No, but-” 

“I’ll third it, if I really have to,” the other middle blocker speaks up, with a roll of his eyes. 

“Alright, then put your hand up, if you’re in favour of Akaashi being captain.” The coach nods with each hand that goes up, which is all of them outside of Keiji’s own. “I think that settles it then. Akaashi, as of next week, you’ll be captain.”

Keiji gapes, but there’s really nothing more he can do. Everyone is watching him, not for mistakes or critique, but as if this was the only natural progression. 

Being the captain of his junior high volleyball teams ends up being both everything and nothing like Keiji dreamed it would be. That’s mostly because he never really dreamed about it. Leadership positions generally don’t even cross his mind. 

It doesn’t help the situation that the first years are terrified of him. There isn’t more than a year between them, but not a single one of them will meet his eyes or come talk to him if they have a problem. At its absolute worst, it reminds him of how Senjiro acted around him in those last few weeks before they parted. At its best, it’s just something to laugh about. 

Spring High is just around the corner too, which only fuels the odd tension in the air. Almost everyone starts showing up to practice regularly, and Keiji can tell they’ve taken his own constant attendence to heart. 

The day before the tournament, Keiji calls practice to an end almost a whole half an hour before they usually finish. The coach goes over their plan for dealing with their first opponent for most of that. But then he steps back, let's Keiji take the stand, just as Keiji had asked him to. 

Everyone watches him, ever so careful as he stands up and faces them. The other second years look far more comfortable with the situation than the first years, but he forces himself to ignore it, at least for now. 

“We’re going to win,” he says, simply. 

Ishikawa opens his mouth, suddenly hesitant, only for Keiji shoot him a level look. It isn’t just his fault that they lost at the last tournament. There’s a reason why there are six people on the court, and that means each of them carries a bit of that responsibility. 

“We’ve always had the reputation of a school that stays firmly in the middle of the pack. We’re rarely kicked out in the first round, but we’ve also never advanced much farther than the second,” Keiji continues. “All of you have experienced this for yourselves, just like I have. I don’t know if we’ve ever advanced to the quarterfinals and if we have, chances are it was a fluke.” 

A first year in the back recoils, shutters coming down around him, and he isn’t the only one. All of the first years are quickly starting to tune out, not really interested in what else he has to say. 

Keiji knows why. 

Their last captain gave them a speech before Inter-High as well, one that sound far more defeatist than anything else. These new club members are just as eager to win as he is. Another speech on how they should do their best is the last thing they want to hear. 

All he has to do is fix that feeling of hopelessness. He looks at them, one by one, and then smiles. It isn’t anything more than pulling the corners of his mouth upwards, but the difference in his team is immediate. “We’re going to change that this year. All of us are strong, strong enough that we won’t just make it to quarterfinals, but to the finals as well. And we’ll win there too.” 

Each of them start to grin. Even their troublesome middle blocker is hiding a smile behind his fingers, and Keiji finally feels satisfied. The team he’s been trying to shape these last couple months will be nothing like the team of their senpai. Not all of them have the same drive that Keiji does, but if he can see it in the first years, then they might have a real chance at this.

.

.

.

They make it all the way to the quarterfinals before they’re defeated. This year, their loss isn’t because of a bloody nose or because they didn’t spend enough time practicing. It’s just that the other team has practiced more, has stronger players and better teamwork, and is just all-around better than them. It’s still a close match.

Once they finished their cool-down, they gather wordlessly in a hall not too far away from the gym. Keiji spent the last half hour attempting to blink away the stinging sensation in his eyes. A few of them are crying openly, and he’s surprised to find that includes their ever-cheerful libero and their trouble-making middle blocker. All of them care about this. Knowing that they would likely admit it now makes it even more difficult to keep his shoulders from shaking. 

“We did everything we could,” he says. 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears.

They’re watching him again, just like they were before the tournament began. It doesn’t look like they’re about to give up on him. Keiji doesn’t need to mindlessly repeat the words of his senpai, like it’s some sort of tradition. 

“We did everything we could.” It comes out firmer this time around, now that he’s stopped holding back the pain from his voice. “But our best wasn’t enough. All that changes is that we have to get better, or we won’t be able to take our revenge at Inter-High.” 

Ishikawa startles, his head shooting up to reveal red-rimmed eyes. “But we-” 

“But nothing. We have potential, we just have to show them that it doesn’t end here.” 

“No. I-” The blunt words finally seem to get through to him, as he start blinking rapidly once more. “No, we’re going to be better next time.” 

Keiji’s life narrows down to volleyball to an even greater extent than before. Their defeat at Spring High hangs over his head. He starts staying longer than everyone else, promising to put everything away before they take off for the evening. 

If no one else sticks around, he works on his serves. But more often than not, someone sticks around for a while and ends up getting roped into throwing the ball for him. The time until Inter-High is a timer counting down above his head, the amount of time until he goes to different school with another team hanging over his head. 

It doesn’t take long before the gym is a second home to him. Being more comfortable around his team is easier now that the newly-appointed second years have taken a shining to him. This doesn’t take long to trickle down to the new group of first years they have too, and the half of Keiji’s life not consumed with volleyball starts revolving around making sure they’re alright. 

He forgets about his Marks entirely. 

He forgets about his Marks entirely until his cover rips after practice one day. Keiji pauses, momentarily surprised by the feeling of nakedness. Nobody stuck around today, but instead of feeling a bit exasperated, he’s now glad. It lets him pull off the cover entirely, before making his way to the club room. 

There a spare cover that he keeps in his bag, just in case. It hasn’t been used before, but this seems like as good of a reason as any. 

Keiji sits down on the abandoned chair in the corner, and stares. 

The last time he actually looked at his Marks could have been either a week ago or months ago. Forgetting about them entirely is next to impossible, but neither has he been thinking about them with the same intensity as normal. 

His Marks are still just three X’s though, no more interesting or captivating than anyone else’s Marks, at first. The only thing that sets them apart from other people is that there are, in fact, three of them. For once in his life, Keiji is entirely comfortable with that. They are just another part of him, like how his hair will never be quite straight, or how nobody seems to agree on whether his eyes are blue or green. 

The door slides open and Keiji’s head shoots up. A first year stands in the doorway with wide eyes. They stay like that for a long moment, the first year’s name fleeing from his mind. Keiji knows the exact moment the first year’s gaze travels downwards, his face paling at the sight of Keiji’s Marks. His name is Ryouhei, Keiji remembers abruptly. He’s the same Ryouhei who wants to take over as libero, and has the biggest mouth Keiji has ever come across. 

“You’ve met your soulmate?” Ryouhei blurts out. 

Keiji automatically shakes his head. 

“Then why-” 

“I haven’t met any of them,” he says, and the words only almost get caught in his throat. 

“You haven’t - wait, uh, them? You have - oh, no.” 

A slam echoes through the club room as Ryouhei closes the door behind him, leaving Keiji alone once more. There’s a backpack half-shoved beneath the table on the other side of the room, Keiji notices through the haze his mind has been reduced to.

.

.

.

“Ryouhei is going to apologize to you today.”

Keiji pauses, food still in his mouth. Their reserve setter stands in front of his desk, waiting for him to respond, and so he quickly swallows. “If you’re going to tell me that, Ishikawa, than you should really try to sound a bit less threatening.” 

Ishikawa recoils, quickly glancing around the room. But despite the hushed whispers from outside the door, he’s the only one from the volleyball team in the classroom. “I didn’t mean it like that, Akaashi-san!” 

“I know.” 

“Then why did you have to say it like that!”

Keiji forces a smile. “It doesn’t count as an apology if you make him do it. And it won’t change anything if he does.” 

“But it definitely won’t change anything if he doesn’t apologize, and the team will stay exactly as it is now!” 

He puts down his chopsticks, suddenly aware of how everyone else’s conversations have quieted at Ishikawa’s outburst. 

It’s been like this all week now. Ishikawa has kept to his own classroom down the hall, but everything else has been off. The couple friends he has outside of volleyball refuse to meet his eyes anymore. No one says anything, but that’s a bitter victory. Judging by how they act around him, they just don’t know what to say, don’t know how to do anything but stare and hope they aren’t one of his three soulmates, like he can somehow steal them from their own soulmates. 

Tonight will be yet another night that he stays late after practice. Keiji has managed not to react so far, but it’s been difficult. At least, the days he can stay late, late enough that he can no longer feel his arms, help take some of that frustration away. 

“I’ve tried telling him that this situation is his fault,” Ishikawa says, firmly. He takes half a step forward and grabs the edge of Keiji’s desk. “But he doesn’t think it’s a problem, and even if he did, he refuses to admit that he told anyone. It has to have been him though, because the rest of us agreed to keep it to ourselves ages ago.” 

Keiji pulls back, his frustration momentarily put on hold. “The rest of you?” 

Ishikawa pales and sends a murderous look towards the door when someone outside snorts loudly. 

“Feel free to blame them for abandoning you here alone,” Keiji says dryly. “But you were the one who just said that, so it’s better if you explain it.” 

“It isn’t really that important though.” But Ishikawa meets his gaze, and his shoulders slump at the look on Keiji’s face. “That thing you use to cover up your Marks? Sometimes, it slips during practice, usually when you’re working on your jump serves. Most of the team has seen them at some point or another.” 

“Oh.” 

“The rest of the team will always stand with you, even when they’re cowards who hide behind doors.” 

“Thank you.” Keiji raises his voice slightly, before continuing. “Thanks to all of you.” 

Ishikawa stares at him for a few, long moments before his expression melts into a grin. It’s the best thing Keiji has seen from anyone on the volleyball team all week, just enough ease in it to wash away his concern. Not that one grin will stop him from giving a particular group of four or five an extra lap of flying falls this afternoon, for the sake of encouraging teamwork, of course. 

An apology doesn’t come that day though, or the day after that. Before Keiji knows it, Inter-High is upon them without much of anything sorted out. Where they were once close to being a properly unified team, there’s now a gaping hole in their club dynamics, largely felt among the younger members. A couple first years drop out, but that’s balanced out by the second and third years who refuse to leave him alone. They eat lunch with him, walk home with him, they do everything they can to try and right the situation. 

It doesn’t work. 

Every inch is a struggle, like Ryouhei is hanging over their heads, even if he isn’t on the court or playing as a reserve. There are hardly any first years who are on the court or in reserve positions, and yet they’re almost running into each other. 

That they make it all the way to the finals before they lose is almost a miracle, but the defeat hangs over their heads. This tournament was meant to be their revenge, Keiji’s final chance at a win with this team, with this school now over. He looks his team over. There aren’t any more “We did the best we could”’s left in him, not when the words taste so bitter on the back of his tongue. 

“Akaashi,” Ishikawa murmurs, glancing between him and the rest of the team.

“It’s fine.” It isn’t, but Keiji isn’t about to tell anyone that. “The second years won’t let this defeat slide at Spring High.”

“We’ll get revenge for all of you in the spring,” a second year speaks up. 

The declaration is bittersweet, but Keiji has no choice but to appreciate the sentiment behind it. He won’t be able to join them in the next tournament, won’t be able to put in the time at practice when he has high school entrance exams to worry about. Not being on the court will ache like a lost limb, but he needs to hope that they will continue to pull out their best.

.

.

.

Despite his failure at Inter-High, Keiji gets an offer to a powerhouse school called Fukurodani Academy. Apparently, it’s in the next town over, just a bit out of his way. He accepts almost immediately.

A school representative stops by his junior high within the week of his acceptance, all wide grins and cool congratulations. 

“Why me?” Keiji asks, once the formalities come to a lull. 

The representative blinks, momentarily caught off guard. “Well, according to one of our current third years, you were holding your team together by the skin of your teeth, and you still managed to make it to the finals. Plus your sense of the court, both your own side and your opponent’s is amazing.”

“The rest of my team is amazing too.” His tone is a bit too sharp, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “With a bit more time to sort out our internal conflicts, we would have won.” 

“See? Nobody on the outside knew there were internal conflicts, and that’s because of your own strength as a setter. We look for that sort of tenacity in our setters, then use that as a groundwork for our spikers and middle blockers,” the representative explains, easily enough. 

Looking past the sentiment of being wanted is difficult, and Keiji doesn’t have the strength to even try. He wants this. He wants this enough that he will listen to some idiot who doesn’t know his team like he does. 

The meeting doesn’t last for much longer anyways, and then Keiji gets swept away in the excitement of actually going to a powerhouse school. There is a new uniform, and he has to get up earlier in the mornings, and he spends an entire weekend going over the logistics of practice and trains with his parents. Before he knows it, he’s actually on his way to the entrance ceremony, then his first day of class.

Club activities aren’t supposed to start until the second week of classes, at least for the first years. Knowing that he has to wait so long makes his hands itch with the need to play volleyball, fingers automatically tapping against his desk during class. It is almost a blessing when a member of the team stops by his classroom with his club application and a request to stop by the gym after class. 

The day goes by quickly after that. His classes blur together, becoming nothing more than a bunch of jumbled introductions. The only reason Keiji isn’t more concerned is because it’s still just the first day. 

By the time he gets to the gym, most of the volleyball teams is doing laps around the edge of the wall. There isn’t just one, but two courts within the gym, and Keiji has to stand in the doorway for a moment as he adjusts to the feeling of being small. A short line of first years stand along the wall closest to the door, and he wordlessly joins them. His gaze tracks the regulars carefully, as they silently wait there.

This is what a real team is meant to look like. 

Near the end of his time in junior high, his team attended more practices than they skipped, but they still cut corners where they could. They certainly didn’t think too much about anything not in the moment. Right now, Keiji can hear new plays being discussed, practice regimes, even a couple weak spots the other members want to work on. It just doesn’t compare. 

A few minutes later, the captain arrives, immediately set apart by the way one of the regulars shout a hello. They wait for everyone to finish their laps before the first years start to introduce themselves, one by one. Keiji should really be more nervous about this entire thing, but some of the names spark his memory. Most of them are people he went up against in junior high, or heard about in other districts. 

As soon as the captain nods at him, he forces himself to breathe in deeply, nerves abruptly attacking him from all sides. “Akaashi Keiji. I’m in Class 1-6, and I’ve played as a setter since elementary school.” 

Keiji waits until the next person goes, before he rises out of his bow, his energy leaving him all at once. 

That turns out not to be the right decision, because a couple members of the team are still watching him. One, all gelled hair and wide grin, catches his attention almost immediately. It only takes a moment to place him as the ace in the match Keiji watched after his own defeat, two years ago. 

Then he sees it.

Or rather, he sees them. His breath catches in the back of his throat at the three Marks decorating the regular’s left arm, different from the Marks on Keiji’s thigh, but still so similar. 

The regular brightens when he realizes what Keiji is staring at, his grin somehow getting wider, more genuine. No hesitation exists in the way he holds out his arm, just enough so he’s showing off all three of his Marks. Keiji involuntarily takes half a step forward. The plain circle on the back of the regular’s arm changes within the blink of an eye, multiplying into two. 

The regular blinks, oblivious until he looks down at his arm. “Woah.” 

The captain pauses in the middle of his speech, and sighs, clearly exasperated. “Is there something wrong, Bokuto?” 

Bokuto.

Keiji has a soulmate named Bokuto. 

“Yes. I mean, no - wait, that’s not what I mean at all!” Bokuto lets out a brief noise of frustration, though the captain doesn’t so much as falther. “Everything is fantastic. Well, you should stop worrying so much, because your speech is fine. Amazingly fine, even.” 

Keiji snorts softly, his nerves quickly replaced by amusement as he steps back into line. The sound makes Bokuto look back over at him, their gazes meeting. Bokuto quickly turns down to his floor and his shoulder hunch around his rapidly-reddening ears. 

“I’m glad you enjoy my pep talks, but please put that enthusiasm towards practice instead,” the captain says.

Another regular laughs. “You want Bokuto to put more enthusiasm into practice?” 

The captain’s face twists awkwardly. “Right, no. Bokuto, put the same amount of enthusiasm towards practice as you normally do, but keep your mouth shut while I’m trying to talk.” 

The rest of the meeting goes by without a hitch, first the captain’s speech, and then the introductions of the other members. Keiji glances up every once in awhile, hoping to meet Bokuto’s gaze, but nothing ever comes out of it. 

Once everything is finished, there really isn’t anything left for Keiji to do. Today was only meant to be a brief introduction to the rest of the team, supposedly so all of them are more comfortable showing up next week. Personally, Keiji thinks it’s more about scoping out everyone’s personalities, but that is neither here nor there. 

Keiji can’t quite bring himself to join the other first years as they head towards the school gates, even though he leaves the gym. Instead, he sends a quick message to his mother, telling her he’ll be late for dinner, and finds a grassy spot where he can keep an eye on the gym door. There isn’t any homework for him to do yet, but that’s almost better. He doesn’t think he could focus on much of anything right now. 

His mother texts back immediately, wanting to know when he’ll be home. The conversation rapidly moves from when to how he’ll get to, if he has enough money to buy himself dinner. After a few minutes, Keiji cracks and explains everything. 

Her reaction isn’t big or blown up, it never is. Instead, he lets out a brief breath of relief at the “good luck, sweetie! <3” she sends, and then puts his phone away and falls back onto the ground. 

One of his soulmates is almost within his sight. 

If Keiji really wanted, he could probably measure the exact distance between them. The thought plants everything a bit more firmly in reality, makes today feel less like a dream. 

The sky above him is shaded red from the setting sun, as the sound of shoes squeaking against the gym floor fill his ears. Even the air smells fresh and clean from the light rain this afternoon. This is the reality Keiji has found himself in, which somehow includes joining a powerhouse school’s volleyball team and meeting his soulmate. The corners of his mouth gently lift, his arms spread out on either side of him. If Bokuto weren’t just one of his soulmates, he would mistake this for a cheesy romance plot. 

Bokuto is the first one out the door. 

It takes him a moment to notice the shock of dyed hair. For some reason, ending practice while it’s still light out feels wrong, but he still pulls himself up to his feet and shifts his bag over his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Keiji calls out. 

Bokuto stops, only a short distance away. The growing shadows make it difficult to read the exact expression on his face. “You stayed.” 

“Of course I did.” Keiji softens, as he sees the tension drain from Bokuto’s shoulders. “It would have been too difficult to try tracking you down tomorrow, even if I haven’t had the chance to look at my Mark yet.” 

“Heh, well, I’m always here.” 

Keiji hums, understanding, and ignores the too-fast beat of his heart. Words fail him for once in his life, but he steps forward, slowly closing the distance between them. Bokuto is one of his soulmates. One who can’t quite form full sentences at the moment, and has sweat dripping down his neck in a way that invites Keiji to watch, but his soulmate nonetheless. Finally knowing feels amazing. 

Then the rest of the team files out of the gym in small groups. Most of them ignore Bokuto and Keiji, but that doesn’t make his impatience disappear any faster. They are plunged into silence the moment the others are gone, as tense and awkward as Keiji’s attempt to find any sort of words. 

“I need to call Kuroo,” Bokuto blurts out. 

Keiji doesn’t get a chance to chase after Bokuto before he’s already on the stairs, following the rest of the team to the club room. A long time goes by before he moves again, the sky falling into darkness around him.

.

.

.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for Bokuto, Keiji isn’t the type of person to give up easily. His mother often tells him that his face while he’s contemplating a challenge, whether it be his junior high volleyball team or eating something his father cooks, is the most amusing expression she’s ever seen. Letting Bokuto continue to run away feels like giving up.

It’s certain that Bokuto is his soulmate too, if he’d been even slightly uncertain. The first thing he had done when he got home was look at them in the bathroom, the permanence of his Mark changing for the first time quick to sink in. One of the X’s has narrowed down, like it got stuck between two heavy objects and squished together. That just barely sets it apart from his other two Marks, but it is still a change. Bokuto is still his soulmate. 

His mother just smiles when Keiji tells her that he’ll be late again tonight, well, smiles and packs him a second bento box. It is a step towards his plan to get Bokuto to talk to him. 

The plan isn’t particularly complex. Keiji simply waits on the third floor after school, facing the volleyball team’s gymnasium to make sure Bokuto shows up to practice. A few minutes after he gets there, he spots the distinctive shock of dyed hair and then goes outside and sits in the same grassy spot from yesterday. Eventually, Bokuto will come out. 

All Keiji has to do is wait for that moment. 

An hour goes by, filled with the distant sound of volleyball, before he spots someone walking towards the gymnasium. 

The tall, lanky boy isn’t wearing the Fukurodani Academy uniform, nor is he old enough to be anything other than a student. And yet, he’s still walking around the school grounds as if he belongs here. That self confidence is what continues to draw Keiji’s eye as the other student gets closer, briefly veering off towards the gym windows to peek inside before he turns around.

His narrow eyes fall on Keiji almost immediately, his expression briefly slackening before Keiji is hit full-force with a wide smirk. “Hey, you!” 

Keiji blinks, pointing at himself. 

“Yeah, you. You are Bo’s soulmate, aren’t you?” 

He hesitates for just a moment, the stranger taking that time to close the distance between them. A yes is waiting just on the tip of his tongue, but neither does he remember anything about the other members of the volleyball team from yesterday. 

“You know what? I don’t even need you to answer that question.” A hand is offered out towards him, all long, thin joints. “Kuroo Tetsurou. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, oh soulmate of mine.” 

Keiji grasps it automatically, feeling a bit like a small gust of wind could blow him away. “Akaashi Keiji.” 

“Oh, I know.” Kuroo uses the opportunity to pull Keiji in closer, his grip tightening around Keiji’s hand. “Bo didn’t shut up about you once last night. ‘Oh, Kuroo, but he’s so pretty! I mean, you’re the prettiest of them all, but I get usually get breaks from you,’” Kuroo says, his voice going high in a bad imitation of Bokuto. 

“But-”

“But nothing. Bo didn’t see much of you, but what he did see wowed.” Kuroo stops and lets his gaze drop as he takes in the entirety of Keiji. “Though, he definitely has a point there. The thing is though, that he’s been going on about this incoming first year who dragged his team to the finals by himself.” 

Keiji frowns, hesitantly tugging his hand away. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” 

“Trust me, it was.” Kuroo pulls himself up to his full height, immediately towering over Keiji. He turns as he takes in the school grounds around them, and his gaze finally falls on the gym. “I want to expand on that thought a bit, but the coach here doesn’t like me hanging around. Apparently, I’m full of trouble just because I go to Nekoma.” 

“Nekoma, really?” he asks, quickly. If there were carpet beneath his feet, he would probably wonder if it had been tugged away, leaving him confused and breathless. 

The grin on Kuroo’s face deepens. “Of course, not all of us have your impressive reputation, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad at volleyball.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“Stop worrying, alright? This situation is all mine now.” 

Kuroo easily tugs him back towards the front gate, patient when Keiji nearly trips over his suddenly leaden feet. The conversation continues, launching into the differences between Nekoma and Fukurodani, and what makes Nekoma a better school. Keiji can’t quite get his mouth to work properly. His responses are short and confusing. Not that it stops Kuroo from listening and then quickly responding with some quip or another. 

If it weren’t for the overwhelming stream of words, Keiji could almost think that Kuroo wasn’t as affected by all of this as either him or Bokuto. It makes the walk a little more bearable when Keiji looks over, and Kuroo falls silent for nearly an entire twenty seconds though. 

They end up at a cafe of all places, the waitress nodding towards them when they sit near the back. It’s nice, and it makes Keiji feel a little bit more centered to have something to look at, namely the menu. 

“I recommend the chocolate croissant, myself,” Kuroo says, not even bothering to look at the menu. 

“Right.” Keiji hesitate, then looks up, his breath momentarily taken away when Kuroo meets his gaze. “I - right, what I don’t understand is how this helps Bokuto-san meet us.” 

Kuroo laughs, short and sharp. “One, if you call Bo, ‘Bokuto-san,’ he’s going to pout us all back into the Ice Age. Two, Bo and I made plans last night to come here once he was finished with practice.”

“Then why did you come to the school?” 

“A whim? Bo explained what happened last night, though I’m sure it had a fair bit of extrapolating to it, so I figured I should stop by the school before then, just in case.” His head lifts as he looks over Keiji’s head, shaking his head at the waitress. “We’ll wait for Bo to show up before ordering.” 

“Of course,” Keiji agrees, easily. 

“Anyways, if you’re our soulmate, you have to have a stubborn streak in you somewhere. It’s like how the tides don’t work if the moon isn’t there.” 

The explanation likely makes more sense than it really should. There’s just something about the way Kuroo nods along as he says it, that makes the meaning snap into place. Though, in this metaphor, Keiji is far more likely to be the mountains stopping the tides from flooding everything else.


	3. i: Kuroo Tetsurou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Admittedly, this chapter doesn't move too much along in terms of the actual timeline, but hopefully that doesn't make it too unbearable for anyone lol.

Tetsurou has three Marks.

Kenma has none.

Volleyballs are round. 

The sky is blue. 

Tetsurou could think up more examples of unchangeable things, if he wanted to. Even if he could change these things, he isn’t certain he would. Maybe if Kenma didn’t seem entirely satisfied with having no Marks, he would change that. Except Kenma would be miserable and furious if he did. 

Besides, Kenma has Tetsurou, and Tetsurou would rather shoot himself in the leg then leave Kenma alone in the world, even if it meant never playing volleyball again. That’s the type of friendship they have, easily balanced out by the fact that Kenma is more likely to sell him out for a new game and a warm couch by a window. If Tetsurou is being honest with himself, he really doesn’t want it any other way. 

That Kenma feels similarly takes a long while to sink in. The two of them spend almost every day together, warm mornings playing volleyball with the kids down the street, and quiet afternoons lying in the neighbourhood park. 

“Does it bother you?”

Tetsurou blinks up at the clouds above them, his arms stretched out as wide as they’ll go. “Does losing bother me? Of course, but that just means they won’t see it coming when we kick their asses tomorrow.” 

“Not the match,” Kenma says evenly.

“What then?” 

Kenma scrunches up his face, and turns his attention back down to his game.

“Hey, c’mon, how should I know what you’re talking about if you don’t tell me?” Tetsurou says, pushing himself up, his arms moving behind him to hold up his weight. 

The music from Kenma’s game starts up again. “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then it doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then you wouldn’t have asked.”

Kenma falls silent, but doesn’t bother to deny anything. This happens sometimes, and so Tetsurou lets himself slump back down to the ground. Kenma isn’t the type of person to ignore people, just that he seems to think that something will go horribly wrong if he doesn’t think about what he wants to say first. 

The music changes though, enough time passing by that Tetsurou almost gives up hope of Kenma ever explaining, when Kenma finally lets out a soft sigh. “Your Marks, the kids on the other team were staring at them.”

“Yeah, well, they’re allowed to do whatever they want.”

“You don’t have to snap,” Kenma says, quietly.

That much is true.

Tetsurou tries not to make a habit of snapping at Kenma, not in the same way he’ll snap at his parents sometimes. The two of them are closer friends than anyone else that Tetsurou knows. That Tetsurou drags Kenma into the centre of attention as often as he can is enough. 

His hand reaches up to touch the Marks on his left arm. There are three lines there, all side by side, and they mark him as different from most other people. They’re almost like little tally marks, one for each of his soulmates. Jerks, like the ones from the volleyball game this morning, are allowed to stare as much as they want. It’s only business as usual for him. The ones from this morning were probably even the same jerks who sneered at Kenma for sticking to the side lines, instead of joining the game. 

“You know I wouldn’t let something like that bother me,” Tetsurou says, dropping his hand back down to the ground. 

“Maybe.” Kenma glances away from his game just briefly enough to frown at him. “You were concerned about those kids from last week.”

“Ah, ah, ah, that’s only because they were bothering you.” 

“They weren’t bothering me. You thought a cat was following them.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

Tetsurou pauses for a long moment, smirking up at the sky, and then, “Didn’t.” 

Kenma doesn’t hesitate. “It isn’t.”

.

.

.

Usually, Tetsurou isn’t entirely certainly if people are more uncomfortable with his three Marks or Kenma not having any. Kenma almost definitely can predict their thoughts at any given time, should he ever decide to share.

The point is that Kenma doesn’t want to share. Instead, Tetsurou has to figure it out for himself, if he really wants to go through the effort. Reading people isn’t impossible for him, he just isn’t as good at it as Kenma. Like how a girl in his class always refuses to look at him when he’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, but she also looks a bit constipated whenever people without Marks are brought up. The exact reactions always differ from person to person though. 

Kenma never quite seems bothered by it. Then again, Kenma never quite seems bothered by anything, even though the trick is that he’s bothered by almost everything. The world never works quite as neatly as Kenma wants it to. 

Apart from the three people waiting around for Tetsurou, that’s probably why they aren’t soulmates themselves. Kenma wants everything to be easily explainable, while Tetsurou revels in the messiness of life, enjoying every moment where he can’t explain why something happens. They’re better as friends. 

Only, things never stay the same, not in the way Kenma wants them to.

Junior high changes things, first of all. Tetsurou has never been so aware of the year difference between them. It used to just mean that they couldn’t be in the same class together, but now it means the difference between two completely different schools, and that is terrifying. 

Not terrifying because the work is too hard or because Tetsurou needs to be around Kenma constantly. Going to junior high is terrifying because he doesn’t trust the rest of the world to leave Kemna alone, not without him there as a buffer. The only thing stopping his teachers from getting angry at him for his near-constant texting is his high grades. 

The one upside is that Tetsurou gets to infiltrate the volleyball club before Kenma gets into junior high. Their setter isn’t quite as good as Kenma is, but Tetsurou doesn’t really expect anyone to be as good as Kenma. Playing with people outside of his neighbourhood is great though. The couple practice matches he plays in send him home with wide grins and excited re-tellings of the other teams. 

In true Kozume fashion, Kenma’s mother doesn’t blink at Tetsurou walking right into her house. Instead, she smiles at him and goes back to cooking dinner without a word, which is perfect because Kenma is the only person Tetsurou wants to talk to right now. His muscles are too worked up, still knotted from missing that last spike. 

Tetsurou lets the bedroom door slam behind him and walks across the room, before collapsing onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I hate life.”

A heartbeat passes as Kenma adjusts to him being there. He shifts to the side without looking up, just far enough away that he can continue playing his game without Tetsurou bothering him. Or, at least, so long as Tetsurou doesn’t drape himself over his legs. 

“At least they let you play,” Kenma murmurs.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” 

“Making sense.” 

Kenma glances at him from the corner of his eye. “They didn’t have to let you play. You’re still a first year.”

Tetsurou groans, one of his arms falling over the edge of the bed. “Why do you do this to me, Kenma? Everything I’ve done for you, and now you’re spouting logic at me.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Kenma says, simply. 

“Why not?” 

“Next year, you’ll have more chances to play, and you’ll be better. You won’t let it end there.” 

Tetsurou rolls over onto his stomach with a grin. “Meaning you’ll join the volleyball team to make sure neither of us can lose. Because you’re not a judgemental princess, you’re a cute, sentimental kitten.” 

“Princess?”

“A cat princess, of course.” 

“That’s not any better, Tetsurou.” 

“It does and you know it. Being a cat is practically your life goal.” 

“Stop making things up.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Kenma looks up from his game again, this time to scowl determinedly at Tetsurou. His laughter echoes through the room until Kenma's mother comes in to make sure they’re alright. She finds him almost falling onto the floor while Kenma determinedly ignores him from where he’s tucked into the opposite corner of his bed.

.

.

.

Tetsurou finally falls into a proper routine once he’s in second year. Kenma does, in fact, join the volleyball team, but that is the extent of his voluntary involvement. Most days, Tetsurou hunts him down and drags him to practice, except when he doesn’t feel like putting in the effort. Things are better between them when he doesn’t push too hard, anyways.

Both of them have an odd relationship with the rest of their team, not that it particularly bothers Tetsurou. Kenma will always come before the team, at least with the way things are now.

What does bother him is people talking about Kenma not having a Mark. Most of the time, he wants to say it does exist, is just covered up or somewhere inconvenient, like the bottom of his foot. Except, oddly enough, Kenma straights tells people he doesn’t have one. 

“You worry about it enough, that I don’t have to,” Kenma says, as they walk home from school one day.

Tetsurou snorts, immediately walking a bit faster. “And now you’re imagining things.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Ignore the talking dog, it never leads to anything good!” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder. He knows without looking that Kenma scrunches up his face, and instead he moves to the edge of the sidewalk, balancing on it as he walks. “But I wouldn’t worry so much, if you cared at least a bit.”

“It doesn’t matter what they say about me.” He glances back, belatedly surprised by the intense gleam in Kenma’s eyes. “They say worse things about your Marks than they do about me.” 

Moving back over to the middle of the sidewalk, Tetsurou throws an arm over Kenma’s shoulders and grins again. “Has anyone told you that you’re a great friend, recently.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start saying those things. You’re already cheesy enough.”

Tetsurou only pulls Kenma in closer, resulting in Kenma stepping away entirely. Things quickly decline into pushing and shoving, trading insults that are almost fond until they both run out of breath. The only thing more satisfying would be hitting an especially good spike, set up by Kenma to be right where he wants it.

Worrying about Kenma won’t stop. Like how Tetsurou won’t stop approaching the assholes who say something to Kenma with a barely contained sneer. Knowing that it goes both ways might make him a bit more subtle though.

.

.

.

Tetsurou comes up with the idea for his personal time difference attack after Inter High in second year. Coming up with the idea itself isn’t too exciting. There are too many hours of the day, even if he should be spending some of them sleeping instead of watching professional volleyball matches online.

The idea doesn’t come because they lost horribly or anything either, because their team makes it all the way to the semifinals. The final loss hurts, but Tetsurou needs to focus on what he can do better next time more. All of their team has improvement in their future. Tetsurou has already started thinking up ways to improve both their teamwork and technique. 

When they do better at Spring High, it comes as a relief. Quarterfinals, for a team in Tokyo, is amazing. Not exactly where Tetsurou wants to stop, because their opponents include a snake-face bastard whose very existence irritates Tetsurou, but still amazing.

What really comes as a surprise is that Tetsurou becomes captain at the very end of the year, the third years retiring because there are no more tournaments to play, no more scholarships to earn. Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it does.

“You guys did this on purpose,” he says, standing in front of his team. His armpits feel gross and sweaty after so much running around, but he isn’t the only one.

“If you think that, then you must have gotten hit on the head by too many volleyballs,” a wing spiker mutters. He reaches up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, immediately pulling his hand away with a grimace. “I call foul. Kenma must have thrown you lighter balls or something.” 

Tetsurou is too tired to even smirk. “Have you tried getting Kenma to do something before?” 

“You would have noticed the difference too,” another person pitches in. 

“All of you wanted Tetsurou to be captain, anyways.” 

The teams turns towards Kenma, who dutifully refuses to meet their eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the sweat dripping from his hair. By the team they look back towards Tetsurou, they’re shrugging and nodding amongst themselves.

The wing spiker from before waves the comment away. “That isn’t the problem. It just isn’t fair that he won the competition, and he’s going to be captain.”

“He wouldn’t be captain, if he didn’t win the competition,” their second year middle blocker says, shrugging. 

“Actually.” The entire team falls silent as their attention turns back towards Tetsurou. “If you came to practice regularly, you might have been able to keep up with me. Whatever measly talent you have won’t work if you don’t exercise it properly.” 

The wing spiker grimaces. “The measly talent I have?”

“Well, you aren’t entirely talentless. But that doesn’t compare to me, who has talent, charm, and has put in the hard work.” 

“Can we have another round? Eleven versus one, with Kuroo as the one. That sounds fair.” 

The rest of the team starts discussing the possibility of the match, and Tetsurou is far too satisfied with himself to stop them. The discussion lasts right up until their coach comes looking for the results of their afternoon. Tetsurou is undoubtedly the new captain. 

Time starts moving at double speed after that moment. Him and the other third years have scouts to worry about, because their junior high often feeds into powerhouse schools. All of them have no time to be anything other than in top shape. Anything less means they won’t win, which then means they won’t get into the respective schools they wants. 

Personally, Tetsurou is aiming for Nekoma. That’s where he’s always wanted to go to high school, ever since his parents first told him about it.

Nekoma isn’t just focused on power, but also on its defensive capabilities and on making sure all of their plays connect. Tetsurou has gone to just about as many of their games as he could have, was immediately taken in by the way they used their defense as an attack all by itself. The other team’s attack can only pick itself up so many times before the mental stress starts to show.

Then there is the Match At The Garbage Dump. The rivalry between Nekoma and a school from another district. Kenma doesn’t pay it much attention, but Tetsurou has been interested ever since he first heard their parents talk about its origins.

Tetsurou wants to take down those crows on a nationwide stage himself.

Going to Nekoma will be more than just continuing a legacy of volleyball though. There aren’t many people who can match him in class, and even fewer who care to try. Fighting against someone can only be a good thing for him.

Kenma frowns when Tetsurou explains this to him. “Why?” 

“It’s easier to improve when I’m up against a strong opponent, than when I’m playing against a weaker one,” he says, with a shrug. “Besides, without someone to push me, I won’t really improve.” 

“One day, you’ll have three someones for that.” 

Tetsurou hesitates, his gaze flickering towards the makeshift net in his backyard. 

Kenma rolls his eyes, and leans back against the tree. “After you meet them, I’ll tell them about how stupid you are. They’ll even believe me. Worrying isn’t something you can cure.” 

“They won’t. I’ll tell them about how much of a liar you are.” 

“One of them needs to have some common sense, if they’re soulmates with you.”

Tetsurou laughs as he stands up again, scanning the yard for a volleyball. “Then they’ll have the common sense to believe me, instead of you.” 

“Someone needs to be able to stop you from doing stupid things,” Kenma says, his voice level. “Your soulmates are meant to make up for your bad personality traits.” He pauses for half a moment, before closing his eyes. “Practice is for playing volleyball. This isn’t practice.” 

“You didn’t show up to practice today.” 

Kenma hums in acknowledgement. 

“I need to work on my personal time difference attack.” 

“Later.” 

“Now.”

.

.

.

His hands shake, regardless of the hold Tetsurou keeps on the ball. He’s firmly behind the line when he bounces the ball, spinning it back towards him.

The team on the other side of the net is their first opponent here at Inter High. At least one representation from Nekoma is up in the stands, as well as several others from different powerhouse schools in their district. This may be the only chance Tetsurou gets to impress them, to get invited to the school he wants to go to. With his grades, he can pass the entrance exam, but that isn’t the same.

“Tetsurou,” Kenma murmurs from his left, as they wait for the referee’s whistle. “I know you can do this.” 

Tetsurou blinks, the ball back in his hands. Kenma never says things like that. Even congratulations for good plays, automatic for most everyone else, are usually outside of his scope unless he really means it.

“You just can’t mess up.”

He laughs lowly. There’s the Kenma he knows and loves. But his hands aren’t shaking anymore. As if he has the time to worry about high school when the entire team is counting on him to lead them through the tournament, and secure a win. 

The whistle blows, and Tetsurou serves the ball cleanly over the net. The other team picks it up, but that doesn’t matter. His team has already fallen into their rhythm much earlier than normal, which is an amazing sign. When they win the match, Tetsurou feels like he’s floating on air. They win again, and then a third time, and a fourth, until it’s the last day of the tournament and they’re in the finals. 

The finals are their only match of the day, but his limbs still ache from days of matches. Getting to this point, competing among the best teams in the district, was a fight every inch of the way. Nobody’s too surprised when they lose.

The other team is good, to the point where they’re expected to make it far at the national level. Beyond that, their middle blocker is left-handed, giving their balls just an awkward enough twist that they’re almost impossible to hit. Something like that shouldn’t make such a big difference, but it does.

But there’s this one moment. 

There is this one moment where Tetsurou is in the vanguard, and he can see the ball coming towards him, almost in slow motion. He jumps at the perfect moment. The ball slams down on the other side of the net, the sound echoing through the gymnasion and the other team’s libero unprepared as they win the first set. His hands sting, but that is nothing compared to the elation filling him as their opponent’s defense crumbles. From that moment on, he know he’ll never give up volleyball. 

A week goes by before Nekoma invites him to their school, but not as the wing spiker Tetsurou has been playing as. They want him as their new middle blocker, and he doesn’t hesitate. Their entrance exam is mandatory, because they put a lot of importance on grades, but everything seems to be going right.

Only, Tetsurou doesn’t have the time to stay on the volleyball team and study for the entrance exam. Watching Kenma disappear off to the gym, while he has to stay in the library, is one of the more difficult things he’s experienced. 

Not being able to play volleyball quickly eats away at him. His knee bounces as he sits at a cramped desk in the library. That last game plays over and over in his head, far more of his attention on that than the book open in front of him. Going from hours of playing volleyball everyday to almost nothing at all is far more difficult than he ever would have thought. 

Tetsurou lasts for two weeks. 

He lasts for two weeks, staring blankly at his notes before shoving them all into his bag. It’s close enough to the end of the day that he can justify stopping by the gym for a little while, just to burn off some energy. Or block a few spikes, if he’s lucky. A couple people look up from their own books, clearly envious as he almost runs from the building. 

His legs ache with the need to move by the time Tetsurou gets to the gym, everything he imagines it would be. Two weeks without, and he breathes in the disgusting smell of stinky socks like it’s an old friend. He stands there for a long moment before the silence registers.

The gym is empty. 

“Kuroo-san,” someone hisses. 

Tetsurou nearly stumbles over his own feet as he is tugged sharply into the gym. A small group of second years stands in front of him, barely registering before a hand is clamped over his mouth. He licks it, drawing a disgusted noise from one of them, just as another couple hands are slapped into place.

The nervous second years Tetsurou left behind wouldn’t have the backbone for something like this. Now, they’re staring at him with wide eyes, as if they’re expecting him to fight back. Tetsurou doesn’t know why, not when this is far more exciting than the library. 

“Let him go,” a voice of reason says, somewhere from his left.

He sounds suspiciously like the new libero.

“But-”

“What’s he going to do? It’s Kenma.” 

Tetsurou raises his eyebrows as he looks into a wing spiker’s eyes, the one whose hand is on top of everyone else’s. There’s a brief moment of hesitation as they maintain eye contact, but the wing spiker eventually backs down. The others follow immediately, leaving Tetsurou to stand on his own once more. 

They don’t pay him any attention before crowding around the door, peering outside. Tetsurou follows, his interest peaked. Nobody is standing outside just yet, but something must be about to happen. 

“So,” he asks, purposely calm, “what’s going on?” 

Awkward silence fills the crowded doorway.

The libero clears his throat. “I don’t think we’re in the position to say anything, actually.”

“Last I checked, I could probably kick all of your asses singlehandedly.” 

“Really, Kenma should be the one to tell you. Or at least-” 

They all fall silent. 

Someone has walked out in front of the gym, certainly not from the volleyball team. A girl, Tetsurou notices belatedly, who likes to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. She looks in either direction, oblivious to them, and her hair tumbles down around her shoulders, her bangs making it impossible to see her eyes. Nothing about her screams confidence, and that’s probably what makes Tetsurou realize what’s going on. 

Kenma walks out of the club room a heartbeat later, a pink envelope tucked away in his hand. Pink isn’t a colour that belongs in Kenma’s possession, not when he prefers soft blues if any colour at all. His preference is really for white or black or whatever doesn’t stand out. 

Neither of them speak loud enough to tell what they’re saying from the gym. 

Tetsurou and the others still lean in, exchanging knowing looks when her shoulders start to shake. Before Kenma even finishes speaking, she bows and grabs the envelope from him, crinkling it in her hands. Her reaction really couldn’t get any more obvious. The rest of the team still could have told her what was going to happen before it did though. 

Then Kenma’s expression falls flat and Tetsurou lets out an awkward laugh as he makes eye contact with his best friend.

.

.

.

“So,” Tetsurou starts. The street stretches on in front of them, hardly a vehicle in sight. “Earlier.”

Kenma continues to stare down at the ground. The only sign he heard Tetsurou at all is the way his shoulders automatically hunch, as if Tetsurou needs the extra confirmation that he’s just avoiding the conversation. 

He lets the silence be for a few moments, as he constructs his line of questioning. “You don’t usually get confessions.” 

“You’ve never gotten one,” Kenma says, bitingly. 

“Well, that’s only inevitable. I’ve technically been taken three times over, while you’re far more available than most people will ever be. It’s less of a risk.” 

Kenma’s sharp gaze flickers towards him. “That hasn’t mattered before.” 

“Don’t derail this conversation. That was a confession, wasn’t it?” 

“I guess.” 

Tetsurou huffs, guiding them around the corner. “What? Did you just receive her letter and then return it unopened? I didn’t take you for someone so harsh.” 

“I read it.” 

“Was it a confession or not then?” Kenma looks away from him again, and Tetsurou sighs, taking it as the silent confirmation he expected. “You don’t really have to tell me everything, you know? I just want to know what’s going on in my best friend’s life.” 

The way Kenma’s face scrunches up is hilarious and he walks faster at the sound of Tetsurou’s loud, clear laughter. “Nothing happened.” 

“But it did!” 

“Stop.” His brief attempt to get away is foiled by a red light. Instead, Kenma stands on the corner, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead. “She confessed, I said no. It wasn’t important.”

“There’s still the question of why you said no.” 

“Tetsurou.” 

Tetsurou falls silent. 

Kenma’s tone is too pointed for him to ignore, the one that lets him know he’s crossed a line. Tetsurou can hardly see his expression, thick, black hair falling purposely into his face. The stance warns him off most blatantly though. How he missed it before is a mystery, because Kenma walks across the street with each step perfectly measured, his shoulders tight with tension. 

Most people are normally fooled by his cool expression, but Tetsurou hasn’t been one of them for a long time, not since they were young. This isn’t how Tetsurou reacts when he’s upset, never big or blown out of proportion, but there nonetheless. Not that he can really remember the last time he pushed Kenma too far. 

“So,” he says, as they reach the other side of the street. “You know you’re allowed to just not like someone, right?” 

Silence echoes between them. 

“Or anyone, for that matter. It’s all the same to me.” 

“Tetsurou.” 

Tetsurou holds back a smirk, although he’s perfectly aware Kenma can still hear it in his voice. “It isn’t like I haven’t done my research.”

“Tetsurou.” 

“Sometimes people without Marks still fall in love,” he continues, without remorse. “Sometimes they don’t want anything like that. Of course, I’ve always thought you were the former, but you could still prove me wrong.” 

“Your parents enrolled you in that camp you keep going on about,” Kenma finally snaps. 

The humour falls off of him as he gapes at Kenma. “Why would you tell me that? Why would you take away the surprise?” 

“You deserved it.”

His mouth twitches at the pointedness of the comment, torn in too many directions. Everything he knows has narrowed down to being told about the volleyball camp in such an abrupt manner, and actually going to the camp. Then Kenma’s shoulders relax again, bit by bit, and that overtakes both his horror and excitement. He can screw up as much as he wants. Kenma will still be right here beside him.

.

.

.

His phone vibrates as the train comes into the station. Ignoring it is difficult as he side-steps the people filing off to get on with a grimace.

The message is undoubtedly from Kenma. 

Kenma, who is almost certainly standing in line and waiting for the local video game store to open. 

Tetsurou doesn’t have the slightest idea what is being released, but Kenma has been bouncing on the edge of his seat since they finished their exams. There’s only one thing that could mean, and it always includes an impending communications blackout. Last time, Tetsurou went almost three whole days without hearing a word from his best friend. 

He swears under his breath as he scans the train for a free seat. Only the brightly coloured shirt of a guy in the other seat draws his eye to the seat a few rows up, and his legs press against the seat in front of him when he sits down, never finding the room they want.

At least the guy next to him isn’t much older than he is.

Tetsurou pauses, incapable of stopping himself. There’s something about the automatic curve of the guy’s smile that sparks his memory. It could have also been his almost-broad shoulders or his thighs, if he’d been standing up. Tetsurou has a great memory for these sorts of things. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, reflexively.

The guy turns, tilting his head as he looks at Tetsurou. “I… don’t think so?” 

The voice is what finally makes things clear. His tone doesn’t quite manage to be either high or low, much like Tetsurou’s own voice lately. But the volume is another story, the words carrying through the train, just like they did on the court a few months back. 

Tetsurou grins triumphantly. “No, I definitely do. Your crosses are amazing.” 

Bokuto Koutarou immediately points a finger in his face. “How do you know that?” 

“You were at this year’s Spring High, weren’t you?” Tetsurou shifts to the side, but the finger follows closely. “I couldn’t play, because I had entrance exams to study for, but my best friend is still on the team. You should watch out for Nekoma’s amazing middle blocker Kuroo Tetsurou next year.” 

“Never heard of you before.”

He falters, then pulls his smirk wider. “That’s only because I don’t start at Nekoma until next week. So, you’ll have to wait until Inter High to see how inspiring my blocks are.” 

“How about we get off at the next stop, and have our own match instead?” Bokuto asks. The ease of the question knocks Tetsurou sideways. 

“Oh?” he asks, revealing nothing. Matching people step for step is simple, something he does instinctively. “Is that a plan I’m beginning to hear there?” 

Bokuto grins, bright and genuine. “The best plan, I promise!” 

Tetsurou shifts his legs out of the way as Bokuto swiftly reaches down for his bag. 

They both stop.

Nothing is clear at first, nothing except for the sudden lines of tension in Bokuto’s back that don’t look right on him. His heart jumps up to his throat when Bokuto straightens up again. The expression there is too serious, especially when he compares it to before. 

Then Bokuto turns his wrist around. Strong muscles line the bone, but it's the Mark that catches Tetsurou’s eye first. Terrifyingly similar to the outline of a cat’s eye, only without the pupil, is the Mark on Bokuto’s wrist. Someone who hasn’t doodled that same shape on half of their notebooks might not recognize it, but Tetsurou has, and Bokuto’s eyes are far wider than is natural. 

“Uh, so, it looks like there’s a small chance that we’re, I think, soulmates?” 

Of course. His grins fades briefly, because with all of these good things, something bad is just waiting to happen. Then it comes back full-force. “Do you try to play volleyball with all of your potential soulmates then? I admit, that’s a strategy I approve of.” 

Something shifts. 

Something shifts between one moment and the next, Bokuto clearly oblivious to it. His smile catches something in Tetsurou’s chest, before a bout of laughter fills the brief silence. Bokuto’s laughter fills him with a tight feeling, but it’s a sound he wants to hear again and again and again.

“I wish! I could have played so much volleyball. That’s definitely something I’ll have to keep in mind for next time, though, because it’s great.” The train starts moving again, but Tetsurou is far more focused on the way Koutarou quickly shakes his head. “That isn’t what I meant, though. My Mark was just a circle before, and now it’s not, but you’re also the only person I’ve talked to since I left the house this morning. Isn’t that how this thing works?” 

“There’s only one way to check,” he says, automatically. 

His other two Marks are so firmly out of his mind that he forgets about them until he shrugs his jacket off, already too late. Bokuto is watching him with eager eyes. Tetsurou pushes up his sleeve quickly, like pulling off a band-aid, immediately validated by Bokuto’s breath catching.

One of his Marks has changed. Anyone could spot the one on the right, longer than the other two and gently veering off to the side, nevermind Tetsurou himself. He isn’t given the opportunity to worry about it further, because Bokuto beams brightly, pushing up his own sleeve to reveal two more Marks on his arm. Pulling his gaze from the two circles, the two circles that match his two unchanged lines, is nearly impossible. 

Tetsurou laughs, almost entirely out of relief, something easing in his chest. “Just how many of those things are you hiding?” 

“I only have the three.” Bokuto’s eyes narrow, even as he fails to hold back a grin, their knees knocking together as he shifts, slightly. “Why? You’re not hiding any other Marks, are you?”

“Well, my best friend does lie to call me sneaky.” Kenma. Tetsurou needs to tell Kenma what’s going on, even if the message might not be read for days now. “I’m not that sneaky, though. At least, not unless my soulmate feels the need to make sure and check me over.” 

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Wait, really?” 

Bokuto shrugs. “Even if you did have another Mark, I’m sure we could figure something out, right? Like, if you’re already in a relationship, then it’s totally up to you to decide what you want to do. We just met, so it would be weirder if I made you say something to them like, ‘I just met this random dude on the train, and now we probably shouldn’t talk anymore,’ wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a good guy, aren’t you…?” Tetsurou asks, filling the silence with meaning. 

Bokuto laughs and easily introduces himself, full of information that Tetsurou technically already knows. Fukurodani is another powerhouse school, so doing his research was only the best thing to do. 

People like Bokuto aren’t meant to exist, for all that Tetsurou keeps up a playful argument with him. He doesn’t know what Bokuto’s gone through, because of their Marks, but if it’s anything like the comments and sly looks and everything else left unsaid, than he can’t be real. Nobody can be strong enough to endure all of that and still come out so naive and hopeful. 

Missing his stop is almost worth it then, at least until they realize they’re going to the same place. Where they’re going to spend the next few days together, at the same volleyball camp. Tetsurou slowly takes it back. The only reason why Bokuto has continued on like this, all bright grins and endless optimism, is because Bokuto simply doesn’t know how to be anything else. 

“Ah,” Bokuto starts, as they take a break between sets. His hand rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly, but something seems off about it. “All of this is okay with you, right?” 

Tetsurou blinks, thrown off guard. “Uh, yeah, I’m always okay with playing volleyball.” 

“No, I mean the whole,” Bokuto waves his hands around, motioning between them, “soulmate thing.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be? Everything is as close to perfect as it could get.” 

“Right.” 

The word falls flat. 

That feels odd in itself, but Tetsurou makes up for it with a grin, throwing an arm over Bokuto’s shoulders. “You clearly didn’t know, if you had to ask. But how about you just leave all the worrying to me and the other half of our quartet, alright?” 

“You think they’re the same people then?” Bokuto asks, worrying his bottom lips between his teeth. 

“Of course.” Tetsurou normally doesn’t add this much bluster to his voice, but Bokuto seems to need something more, even if Tetsurou doesn’t know quite what. “I’d be worried if we didn’t have the same number of Marks. But we don’t, so I’m not. Simple.” 

That Tetsurou is lying doesn’t matter, not when he’s immediately faced with the full force of Bokuto’s grin. His heart skips a beat, heat rising to his cheeks, even as he grins back. Bokuto could achieve world peace with a smile like that. He doesn’t seem to mind that Tetsurou can’t look away until the coach yells at the two of them to get moving either.

.

.

.

“I can’t believe you made me pick you up,” Kenma mutters.

Tetsurou snorts, readjusting his backpack. His clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably, an unfortunate side effect of running out to meet Kenma right after practice. “C’mon, you have to admit that you’ve missed me. We haven’t walked home together in nearly three weeks.” 

Kenma shoots him a disbelieving look from the corner of his eye and starts walking down the street, carefully ignoring Tetsurou as he attempts to catch up. The only thing more satisfying would be if they both went to Nekoma, instead of Tetsurou having to wait another year to be joined at the high school. 

Thus far, high school has been a bit odd. Not odd in the same sense that junior high was, or elementary school. There’s no one from his junior high at Nekoma, meaning no one other than the volleyball team knows about his Marks. The weather hasn’t been warm enough to switch over to short sleeves either. Tetsurou isn’t about to complain about the treatment though, not when it’s been so much worse before. 

If only his seniors on the volleyball team weren’t so focused on team hierarchy. 

“You’ve missed me,” he says, in a sing-song voice, instead of voicing any of his worries out loud. “Admit it, Kenma. You miss me being around to bother you all the time.” 

“You haven’t given me the chance.” 

“Have too. You have all day to yourself, hours where you can play your games uninterrupted. Who knows how you deal-” 

His phone vibrates from his pocket, cutting him off, briefly. Kenma huffs, exasperated, while Tetsurou pulls the phone out and opens the screen, thoroughly ignoring his friend. 

Looking at the phone isn’t necessary for him to know who it is. There are exactly two people who text him regularly, outside of his parents, and one of them is currently beside him. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he reads the excited exclamation from Bokuto, despite himself, and he quickly replies. Their conversation isn’t more complicated than mentioning practice, but it’s enough for Tetsurou thus far. 

Anything more and Tetsurou might just die from overexposure to his soulmate. Even now, he can feel his heartbeat pick up as he sends a message about walking home with Kenma. Bokuto isn’t even around to laugh and throw an excited arm over Tetsurou’s shoulders. 

“That’s why I haven’t missed you,” Kenma says, evenly. 

Tetsurou glances up, only noticing that Kenma has stopped to wait for the crosswalk at the last moment, his toes on the edge of the curb. “What?” 

“It’s impossible to miss you when you talk to me every night to gush over Koutarou.” 

“Gush- I don’t-” 

“You do.” 

Tetsurou’s mouth goes through the motions of speaking, not a sound escaping. 

Kenma doesn’t so much as glance back at thim as the light goes green, instead leading the way across the street. “There isn’t another word for it.” 

“You could at least not call him Koutarou,” Tetsurou forces out. 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you calling him by his first name.” 

His phone vibrates in his hand, undoubtedly a response from Bokuto that Tetsurou can’t quite get himself to look at with Kenma’s easy declaration echoing through his head. Things will hopefully be better once they meet their other soulmates. At least one of them will be sympathetic to Tetsurou’s need to so-called gush over Bokuto. That counts on them not doing weird things to Tetsurou’s head as well, though. 

They have to be more sympathetic than Kenma, at the very least. Or less prone to suggesting utterly embarrassing things, like calling Bokuto Koutarou only a few weeks after they’ve met. 

Kenma glances over at him and snorts. “If you’re not going to do that, you could at least answer him.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Tetsurou mutters, finally opening up his screen again. 

There are multiple messages from Bokuto by this point, each a continuation of his summary of his own volleyball practice this afternoon. Fukurodani seems to be a great place, all things considered. A great enough place that Bokuto is getting to practice with the team far more than he used to. 

If only it were the same for both of them. Tetsurou holds back a bitter smile, and types back his response. Bokuto doesn’t need to know that Tetsurou has spent most of his time picking up balls for the upperclassmen, that he’s only been able to practice in small increments, nowhere near as much as he used to. Kenma frowns, a subtle downturn of his lips, but continues onwards towards home. 

Things don’t particularly get any better with the volleyball team as his first year goes on. A couple of the second years talk to him sometimes, make his situation and the other first years’ out to be something normal, at least for Nekoma. All Tetsurou knows is that it’s going to change, as soon as he can make it. This is exactly the sort of thing that Kenma hates, the sort of thing that makes him twitchy and uncomfortable. 

It won’t change by the time Kenma gets here. Too many of the second years support the system, too many of them start giving Tetsurou guarded looks as the news about his Marks spreads. 

Then Tetsurou finds out that he won’t even be a reserve for Inter High. 

His hands clench into tight fists as the coach announces the line-up, not so much as looking towards the first years. He doesn’t look towards Tetsurou or Nobuyuki or even Yaku, for that matter. For all that Yaku is the devil in disguise, he’s shaping up to be one of the best defenders that Nekoma has ever seen. 

He shares a long look with Yaku, their feelings momentarily shared in the sting of their talents being entirely ignored. Then they both turn away with an annoyed huff, Tetsurou entirely content in forgetting anything ever happened. 

Kenma walks home with him that day, neither of them saying a word, even as Kenma glances back at him every few minutes or so. Transparent is the only description Kenma would use for him, regardless of what anyone else thinks. 

Hiding what happened from Bokuto is much more difficult, their almost-nightly video calls growing awkward. Tetsurou manages to keep his mouth shut though, determined not to say a word. Bokuto is being allowed to play on the court as a regular for the first time, he doesn’t need the excess stress of Tetsurou whining about not playing on top of that. Better that he keep it hidden as long as possible. 

Or so he thinks, because the next week, Tetsurou steps out of the gymnasium to find Bokuto leaning against the side of the building and fiddling with his phone. 

Bokuto glances up, and grins. 

The air leaves Tetsurou’s lung, entirely unrelated. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, the question forced and awkward. He can almost feel the coach’s glare from behind him, just as clear as Bokuto’s Fukurodani uniform. 

“Hey! Isn’t it obvious? I’m here because of you.” Bokuto pulls himself up, his grin briefly fading as he laughs sheepishly. “Well, I probably wouldn’t have known anything if I hadn’t asked Kenma what was going on.” 

“Kenma-” 

“Told me everything. Come on, there’s this community center nearby. I checked their hours on the way here, and apparently they have some open time at the gym in, like, fifteen minutes,” Bokuto says, rushing through the words. 

“What?” 

“Just, come with me, okay?”

Tetsurou can’t bring himself to say anything else, not when Bokuto grabs his wrist and starts tugging him towards the gate. His stuff is still in the club room, but actually going to get it will have to wait until tomorrow. The entire world is going to wait until tomorrow, because his words are frustratingly stuck in the back of his throat. 

That he’s still in his workout clothes ends up being a good thing, because Bokuto doesn’t take the time to get changed when they do get to the community center. He doesn’t do anything other than claim the empty net, leaving Tetsurou to trail after him. 

There’s a ball lying abandoned along the wall, and Tetsurou walks over to grab it, spinning it in his hands. “So, what now?”

“Well,” Bokuto starts, desperately scanning the gym, “we’re… kind of waiting for someone?” 

Tetsurou opens his mouth to respond, the words dying in the back of his throat as he sees Kenma duck into the gymnasium, hands tucked into his pockets. Kenma seems to be late, as usual, but Tetsurou can see everything start to fall together now, and it creates an amazing picture. 

Bokuto beams at him. “See? The two of us were talking, and I don’t know if Kenma likes me, but he suggested this after he explained what was going on. This way I get to practice spiking and you get to practice blocking, while Kenma sets for us!” 

“You dorks,” Tetsurou says, faintly. 

“Huh?” 

Tetsurou shakes his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Bokuto. Bokuto is just that bit shorter than him, that letting his head drop down onto Bokuto’s shoulder is a bit awkward, but he will never admit it’s anything less than perfect. 

He motions over at Kenma to join them as Kenma stops just a few feet away. Instead, Kenma takes a deliberate step backwards, his nose scrunched up with his displeasure. Laughter bursts out of Tetsurou, bright and sudden, and he can’t quite get it to stop as him and Bokuto part. Where Bokuto’s arms had rested for those couple minutes tingles for the rest of the evening, making it impossible for Tetsurou to ever forget about him.


	4. i: Tsukishima Kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it turns out that Tsuki is actually kinda difficult for me to write, thus not entirely satisfied with how this chapter turned out. I don't know what else I can do to make it better at this point though, lol. Hope you guys enjoy! <3

“Tsukki, what does your Mark look like?” 

Kei narrows his eyes, lowering his arms when the volleyball doesn’t come to him. “I don’t have one.” 

Yamaguchi stares. His expression is blank, the ball loose in his hands. He doesn’t react when Kei motions for him to toss the ball into the air. 

It couldn’t be more of an over-reaction than if Kei started dancing in his underwear. It always surprises Kei a bit when Yamaguchi turns out to be just as complicated as everyone else can be. They’ve been friends for months now, meaning it really shouldn’t surprise him, but it does.

The last thing Kei wants is for things to change between them, especially over something as stupid as Marks.

Most people are messy and complicated. They say and do unnecessary things or get offended about stuff that doesn’t really matter, working themselves into a rage whenever Kei says something without thinking. Navigating through the bottom of the ocean would be easier, most of the time. Then again, Kei never particularly cares about what other people think. 

For the most part, Yamaguchi is the exception to those rules. Everything is a little bit simpler, a little bit easier when Kei is with him, compared to everyone else. If he wants to play video games instead of volleyball, then he just comes out and says so. If Kei makes a face at someone they pass in the street, Yamaguchi just laughs or adds his own snide comment.

“Sorry,” Yamaguchi says, needlessly. “I was just thinking - I mean, I talk about my Mark a lot, right? So, I guess I thought it wasn’t really fair that you never get to talk about yours.” 

Kei huffs, his hands dropping to his sides as he scrunches up his nose at the thought. “Even if I had a Mark, I wouldn’t want to talk about it.” 

“What?” 

“It’s just a Mark. Besides, it doesn’t matter what I’d want my soulmate to be like or what my Mark would look like. None of that changes anything,” he explains. “Not that it matters what I think, when my soulmate doesn’t exist in the first place.”

Yamaguchi smiles, awkward and wilting. “I guess you have a point. I can stop talking about my Mark so much, if you want.” 

“Whatever.” 

Yamaguchi hesitates, and his shoulders slump as he stares down at the ground. Nobody should look like a dejected puppy for something as simple as Kei not having a Mark. It’s almost as bad as when people think Kei is secretly desperate for one.

“You like talking about your Mark,” Kei says finally, motioning for the ball one last time. “Don’t stop doing something you like, just because it might bother someone.” 

“But-” 

“Watching you get all worked up over it is hilarious, anyways. Reminds me of the pathetic leads in those horrible romantic comedies you like so much.” 

“I don’t like romantic comedies!” 

Kei doesn’t bother to hold back a smirk. “Look me in the eyes and say that.” 

The ball is finally thrown into the air, just outside his comfort zone and with much more force behind it than absolutely necessary. Kei has to surge forwards to even attempt to receive it, the force of it stinging his arms. But Yamaguchi grins at him when he hits it back, perfectly satisfied with himself. 

Another thing that Kei likes about being friends with Yamaguchi is that he isn’t afraid to get revenge, petty or not.

.

.

.

Soulmates are just people who work well together. They have a strange compatibility, and that compatibility shows itself through Marks appearing on people’s skin, generally within a week of them being born, regardless of whether or not their soulmate has been born yet. As a person’s relationship with their soulmate changes, so does their Mark.

Kei scowls at the television, not entirely surprised when the man on the screen attempts to explain how a person’s DNA affects someone’s Marks. The theory makes sense in its simplified form. Only Kei has read more detailed versions of it, has seen the parts where sense starts to disappear. Scientists have been attempting to figure out how Marks work since the dawn of time, before they were even called scientists. But even the most sound theories in the field are closer to hocus-pocus bullshit than actual science.

There are too many questions that are just unanswerable, like the hows and the whys. Then the conversation always turns towards more philosophical questions about fate, religion, or the universe in general. Kei groans. Guessing about things like that is useless, not when nobody ever knows the answer one way or another.

Then again, he doesn’t have a Mark. No Mark means no soulmate, which means nothing dictating who he’s going to love for the rest of his life. People just don’t make sense.

“Why do you keep watching these documentaries if all they do is make you angry?” Kei makes a noise of vague protest as his mother moves to stand in front of the television, the documentary hidden from sight. “Do we need to have another talk?” 

“We talk too much already,” Kei mutters.

She huffs at him, his comment passing by without any more acknowledgement than that. “You’ve watched three documentaries on Marks and soulmates just this week.”

“And?” Kei pushes himself up, the blanket sliding as he turns and leans against the back of the couch. Her expression doesn’t falter, meaning he’s still in the clear. “Akiteru cried about his girlfriend dumping him at least three times this week, and you’re not talking to him about it.” 

“Your brother’s going through a difficult time right now. You, on the other hand, are-” 

“Listening to some idiot go on about how people with multiple Marks have different DNA markers than people who only have one. I know.” 

“Kei-” 

“He’s wrong, anyways. If he’s right, it doesn’t matter either,” he continues, shifting to try and look past her. “Don’t worry, you’ve nailed that much into my head over the years.” 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Their gazes snap together. Kei looks away first at the sight of his mother’s pursed lips, then she sighs and steps away from the television. “I really don’t understand. How are my sons so different from each other?” 

“Two Akiterus would be worse.” 

Kei lays back down on the couch, purposely ignoring the sharp, over-dramatic inhale from somewhere behind him. The corners of his lips lift into a satisfied smile, before he focuses his attention back on the documentary. Akiteru always has the best timing.

The same idiot from before is still blathering on, having quickly moved onto specific cases of people with multiple Marks. All it takes is a few moments for it to become obvious that one of the examples doesn’t really have multiple Marks, just one real Mark and then two tattoos. Someone so bad at lying shouldn’t be on TV. They should at least be able to keep a straight face while being confronted with badly photoshopped pictures of themselves. 

Dinosaur documentaries are almost always better quality than this, but Yamaguchi already wants to hear all about how horrible this one is. Backing out when Kei has come this far isn’t an option. 

“That isn’t fair.” His mother pauses purposely, just enough that both of them can hear the self-satisfied hum from just up the stairs. “Akiteru can barely handle himself, so two of him would likely rip a hole in the fabric of the universe.” 

“Hey!” 

“Oh, hello, Akiteru. I didn’t know you’d taken to creeping around in the staircase.” 

Kei stifles a laugh into the couch cushion as Akiteru’s offended whine fills the room. 

This is the moment he remembers a week later, when one of the kids from his class declares that Akiteru can’t be a regular on Karasuno’s volleyball team. Akiteru is an idiot, most of the time, but he’s also the best volleyball player that Kei knows of.

Something feels off about the declaration though. There’s only a couple weeks until the tournament, which means that Akiteru has practice every day in order to properly prepare. Him and Yamaguchi end up practicing more in turn, the excitement for the last tournament of Akiteru’s time on the high school volleyball team quickly building. 

Volleyball becomes the only thing him and Yamaguchi talk about. Documentaries about soulmates and the odd looks he gets whenever soulmates are brought up are put onto the back burner. There isn’t any time to think about other things. 

“No wonder you and Freckles play together!” 

Kei stops, emotion draining from his face, even as he’s caught off guard. He can hear the soft thud of the ball falling uselessly to the ground, and it rolls into his foot. 

Last he checked, the park had been completely empty around them. Empty doesn’t normally include the boy currently standing between him and Yamaguchi, his face stubbornly set into stone. It only takes a moment to place how Kei knows him. Forgetting anyone so certain that Akiteru wasn’t a regular would be difficult. Understanding why he’s standing between them now would be simple, if Kei cared enough to think about how he’s likely hurt from his own mistake. 

Instead, he smirks. “Jealous that you’re not good enough to play with us?” 

Yamaguchi holds back a snicker, the boy’s face quickly turning a bright shade of red. 

“What? No!” The boy flails, words escaping him in the same way so many others have at Kei’s sharp tone. His shoulders tense and his shirt shifts just enough to reveal the Mark nestled in the juncture between his neck and collarbone. “Why - why would I want to be friends with people like you?” 

“Hey-”

“People like me?” Kei says, his voice low as he cuts off Yamaguchi.

The boy inflates. “Yes, people like you!” 

“And what exactly makes me different from other people?” 

“Tsukki, stop.” 

Yamaguchi’s quiet warning hardly registers, not when Kei has already edged their classmate along this far. Not that it would matter to Kei either way. He already knows what he needs to about this boy with his stupid, messy hair and stony face, mind already made up about what sort of person Kei is. 

“You don’t even have a Mark!” The statement echoes through the park, just as Kei expected. They’re the same words even, the boy faltering when Kei doesn’t react. “And, and so you’re never going to grow up. And there’s no point in you having friends, because you’re never going to like people, and it turns you into a bully.” 

Kei snorts.

Something must be trapped right beneath his skin, because everything this kid just said makes his blood pump faster. He doesn’t even know where to start with that. Not liking people is something he’s already missed out on, if Yamaguchi or his parents or Akiteru are anything to go by. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?” His gaze snaps towards Yamaguchi in surprise, briefly captivated by the angry shade of red filling Yamaguchi’s face. “Tsukki’s no more of a bully than you are.” 

“You’re just so close that you can’t see it! Do you think he really cares about you?” 

“Of course Tsukki cares! I’m not an idiot who just believes everything people say, not like you are.” 

“Maybe I just don’t want to end up like you,” the other boy continues, taking half a step towards Yamaguchi, his back almost entirely to Kei now. “Everyone knows that people without Marks don’t understand emotions! What happens when you meet your soulmate, and he doesn’t care?” 

“Tsukki doesn’t need a-” 

“Yamaguchi.” The conversation falters at Kei’s sharp tone, Yamaguchi glancing over at him with wide eyes. “Regardless of what you say, he won’t understand it. People with small brains just don’t comprehend.”

Waiting doesn’t so much as occur to him as he picks up the volleyball and stalks out of the park. Everything is off, the ground beneath his feet uneven, making it difficult to continue forward.

Yamaguchi falls into place beside him, silent but there nonetheless. Neither of them speak as they walk down the street, their arms brushing together in a silent reminder that the other is there. Even if Kei wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to say something. His throat is blocked off, every moment of thinking about it making the lump in his throat bigger. 

People have talked about him like this before. Words about emotions and empathy, and how Kei must lack both, have echoed through his mind before. Never have they made him stop before. Never has he let them affect him in any discernable way. 

The last week before Akiteru’s tournament ticks by slowly, each hour counted by seconds rather than minutes. Then Kei is up in the stands, frozen as time comes to a stop altogether. Akiteru is nowhere to be seen on the court. Akiteru is not on the court, because Akiteru is in the stands across from him. The boy who was not wrong, but right about Akiteru stares at him, victorious.

Why is the only question going through Kei’s mind. Why, why, why, until he gets back home and collapses on his bed. His mother calls him down for dinner, but why should he bother joining them. Why should he bother with anything at all? 

His phone vibrates, eventually. It takes him a long time to roll over to look at it, particularly when there’s only one person it could be. 

_Yamaguchi_ 12m ago  
_tsukki, you ok?_

Kei stares at the message, his fingers poised over his phone’s keyboard for long enough that the screen goes black. Responding shouldn’t be this difficult, especially not to Yamaguchi. But if he listens hard enough, he can hear Akiteru in the next room over, talking to their mother in what he probably thinks is a low whisper. As if anyone needs to discuss what happened his afternoon. 

His mother will come and check on him, just as soon as she gets the story out of Akiteru. Akiteru not being a regular probably isn’t a surprise to her, but she worries easily. Half of him is tempted to barricade his bedroom door, block it until nobody could bother him if they tried. Except he can’t think of a reason to bother with the effort, not now. 

Why put the effort into something that ultimately isn’t going to work out? 

_Should i not be?_ he ends up sending to Yamaguchi. 

His phone vibrates with an answer almost immediately, meaning Yamaguchi was probably waiting anxiously, phone in hand. 

_yes???_

Kei huffs. Well, im fine

The screen goes black again before Kei gets another reply. He rolls over onto his side and stuffs the phone under his pillow, ignoring the vibrate that follows a few moments later. Yamaguchi already had his chance. If he questions why Kei never answered, Kei will just say he fell asleep. 

Tomorrow will be a pain to deal with. Tomorrow is a pain that he doesn’t want to deal with, because why should he have to explain to anyone that he was wrong, that his feelings were misplaced. His phone doesn’t stop vibrating. Yamaguchi’s tenacity would almost be admirable if it wasn’t so annoying. It’s probably just full of sentimental blubbering anyways, and Kei has never really understood why people feel the need to apologize for things that aren’t their fault. 

A knock at the door makes him turn his head in towards his pillow. “Kei, how are you holding up in there?” 

“I’m fine,” he calls out, lifting his head just long enough that his mother can hear that much, before dropping it again and murmuring, “Not.” 

Silence rings through his room before she finally decides to open his door anyways. She doesn’t move from the doorway, not right away. If Kei didn’t know any better, he would say that she’s attempting to approach a wild animal, instead of her own son. At least she couldn’t hear the tail end of his comment. He would never hear the end of it otherwise.

“Kei?” When he doesn’t respond, his mother steps into his room, not stopping until she’s perched on the side of his bed. He knows better than to think she’s actually oblivious to him ignoring her. “Are you sure you’re alright? I know today was difficult.” 

“I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Right, because you can’t answer a simple question before you sleep.” His mother pauses, purposely, before continuing, “With the lights on, and a whole two hours before I usually have to force you to go to bed.” 

Kei groans into his pillow. “Shut up.” 

“How about when I’m dead and buried?” 

Kei waits a moment before slowly lifting his head. His mother almost always follows a comment like that up with some sarcastic remark about him waiting until she dies to do something stupid. Or, occasionally, that he’ll dance on her grace when she’s gone. To think she wonders where he gets his sarcasm from, because it certainly isn’t his father. 

Instead, she’s contemplating the backs of his legs with an odd, intense frown. Far more intense than it should be for her to just be looking at his legs, the shorts he usually sleeps in pushed up around his thighs from just lying in bed for hours. Kei twists around to get a look, unsurprised when he can’t get a good glimpse of whatever she’s looking at. 

“No, no, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” she says, shaking her head. “I just thought I saw something, but I must have imagined it.”

Kei rolls his eyes, letting his head drop back down. “You’re weird.”

“And I hope you’re not letting this whole business with Akiteru not being a regular bother you too much. It’s hard on him too.” 

“Well, he wasn’t lied to.” 

She reaches over to ruffle his hair, ignoring the noise of protest she receives. “Not everything is as simple as you like to think it is, Kei. Akiteru explained a couple of his reasons for lying to all of us, even if I don’t quite agree with them.” 

“All of us?” Kei asks, quiet. 

“Did you think I would have let him continue lying to you? It wasn’t his smartest decision.” 

“You mean he was an idiot who shouldn’t have lied, and now you’re going to forgive him for it anyways.”

His mother’s lips thin, no real happiness behind the almost-smile. “I am going to forgive him, Kei, but not for the reason you think.” 

Another retort waits on the tip of his tongue, but Kei swallows it back, suddenly relieved that his face is hidden in his pillow. There can’t be some logical explanation to what Akiteru did, nothing that puts him in the right. Akiteru lied straight to his face. Things can’t get any more complicated than that. 

His mother stands after long moments of silence. Kei can’t see the expression on her face, but he can picture the resignation there. The sound of the door closing behind her never comes, and he waits for whatever it is she wants to say. Escaping from it isn’t an option, not when there’s nowhere to run. 

“When - if you’re ever in a serious relationship, Kei, please know that nobody in this house is ever going to compare you to your partner.” 

Kei lifts his head one last time, thoroughly confused, but the lights go out around him and the door closes with a soft click. All that’s left is the grim, useless satisfaction of burying his head back into his pillow, and finally allowing the rest of the world melt away until morning.

.

.

.

Kei keeps playing volleyball. He doesn’t really understand it himself. There are any number of club activities he could do instead. There are any number of things to write down on his university applications, ones that don’t make Yamaguchi give him odd, worried looks when they join their junior high team.

Only, starting something else would be even more effort. Telling himself that is easy, and so he continues on and doesn’t look at himself playing volleyball any harder than he has to. Better to continue doing something that he’s halfway decent at, than to start something new.

A couple of the other kids at the time talk about how they crave the feeling of a volleyball in their hands once the weekend’s over. That much, Kei doesn’t understand. Putting effort into a club activity is one thing. Caring so much about whether or not they win is something else entirely. No matter how much he thinks about it, he can’t wrap his head around it. The urge to win has to die out at some point, but when? After the local tournaments are nationals, then from nationals are internationals, until they become the best in the world, and none of them are actually going to get that far. 

Compared to them, the amount of attention he pays to their matches is next to nothing. They go without care, skipping practice at least once a week. Sometimes him and Yamaguchi will toss a volleyball around for no reason at all, other than because they can.

Most of the time, they sit around, trading odd facts from obscure documentaries and listening to music. 

Kei just shrugs when they get through the first round of their last tournament of junior high, more excited for the celebratory dinner his mother cooks for him than playing more volleyball. The celebratory dinner isn’t too different from the comfort food she cooks for dinner the next night. Their team is decidedly average, and Kei is perfectly satisfied with that. 

Nobody expects him to care, anyways. They’re more likely to leave him alone if he acts like the emotionless bully they want him to be. Except when it comes to classwork. Then his classmates sneer as he slips his marked test into his bag, the high mark briefly visible. 

“How does he do it?” he hears someone murmur during lunch, their gaze flickering towards him.

“Who-” His classmate cuts themselves off with a sharp huff. “Oh, Tsukishima-kun. He doesn’t have a Mark.” 

“I guess that makes sense.” 

“Yeah. I wish I could stop caring about things. It must make studying easier, anyways, because he probably doesn’t get distracted with friends or crushes or anything like that. The world would be so much simpler.” 

Maybe the world is simpler to him.

Maybe other people, people with Marks, have some extra emotions that have been hidden from Tsukishima this entire time. His hands clench beneath his desk. Regardless of what they say, his life doesn’t feel simpler than theirs. The way they talk about him, he might as well be some sort of defect in the way they think the world works. Maybe they aren’t wrong. 

His thoughts abruptly come to a stop as someone jabs a finger into his cheek, his head quickly shooting up. Yamaguchi stands in front of his desk, wearing a self-satisfied grin. 

“What was that for?” Kei asks lowly, as he reaches up to rub at the sore spot on his cheek.

“Sorry.” Yamaguchi sounds cheerful, despite the apology, and he doesn’t waver at Kei’s scowl. “You looked like you were about to fall asleep there.” 

“Why would I fall asleep now? We still have another three hours of class to get through, not to mention volleyball practice afterwards.” 

Yamaguchi shrugs, sitting in the empty seat at the desk in front of him. “I don’t know. You mentioned having a nightmare a couple of nights ago. You could have had another one last night. Or maybe class is just so boring that you barely had a chance.” 

“Like I can even try to fall asleep with everyone talking so loudly.”

The atmosphere of the class turns awkward, even as Yamaguchi snickers, like they’re sharing an inside joke instead of pointing out assholes. Kei huffs out his own laugh, careful not to look at anyone. Engaging with them only gives them more ammunition in this pseudo-war of theirs. Things would get worse if he confronted them outright.

Yamaguchi wants to confront them. Kei sees it in the way his smile turns tense whenever someone talks about Kei, in the way his laughter is artificially high whenever Kei makes fun of them in turn. Neither of them talk about it. Neither of them do anything, but wait for their slowly approaching junior high graduation. Karasuno is waiting for them, not quite a place of refuge, but maybe a place where they can listen to something other than the same old bullshit. 

The best thing that comes out of Kei’s last year of junior high is that Akiteru moves out of the house. He talks about some job in the next town over, and his mother smiles knowingly when he leaves.

Kei doesn’t particularly want to know whatever secret they’re sharing. 

Instead, he forces a smile at his junior high graduation, ignoring Akiteru and his mother among the parents watching. Yamaguchi’s parents are there too, their expressions strained when they’re forced to acknowledge Kei at Yamaguchi’s side. His presence doesn’t stop them from taking pictures, though there must be almost triple the amount of pictures of Yamaguchi alone than with Kei.

.

.

.

Karasuno ends up being more obsessed with Marks than his junior high through some stroke of bad luck, particularly the volleyball team. Kei towers over most of the third years, and Sugawara hardly needs to say a word before Kei realizes he’s soulmates with Daichi. The rest of the equation comes together more slowly. If Tanaka didn’t make a strained joke about them being only two parts of a trio, Kei likely wouldn’t have realized it at all.

Everything about the Karasuno volleyball team is strained, for that matter. Nobody is quite as horrible as the short spiker and asshole setter who managed to get themselves into trouble before club activities even started though. 

Out of everyone on the team, Hinata is the worst when it comes to Marks. Kei isn’t even slightly surprised. That he tells Kei everything about his Mark, and then Kageyama’s Mark before they’ve even made it through a week of not-practice is almost expected. It will make beating the King and his new-found Subject on the court worth it, at this point. So long as they don’t tear each other apart first.

Watching that would certainly be worth it. Club activities will quickly become more sedate, and Kei might actually be capable of dealing with volleyball as a whole for the next three years without that level of enthusiasm around.

They lose.

They lose, and Kei bears the defeat with a grimace, keeping the expression carefully hidden from Yamaguchi. None of this even matters in the grand scheme of things. Kageyama is a tyrant, through and through, but he is also a genius. Losing was only inevitable, like how ice cream always melts in the sun, like how having one Mark is always easier, like how Akiteru was replaced by a genius. 

Hinata and Kageyama have some insane move together as well. That’s what really makes him scowl, watching them get past their defenses over and over and over again. As if they couldn’t be more persistently annoying than they already are.

“They really bug you, don’t they, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asks on their way home that night.

Kei blinks, swallowing a bite of his meat bun. “Who?” 

“The King and that Hinata guy, obviously.” 

“Of course they annoy me.” Kei continues on, taking a last second left with Yamaguchi following easily from beside him. “Nobody could get more annoying than those two. Except maybe the two of them together.” 

“They’re not actually together, you know,” Yamaguchi says.

Kei takes in a deep breath of relief. “Thank fucking god. Can you imagine how much worse it would be if they were soulmates? Kageyama would combust from pure incomprehension alone.”

“Kageyama would be in pieces, which would devastate Hinata. They’d just keep going around and around until someone gave in to something. It almost sounds like a bad romance story.” Yamaguchi pauses, then snickers to himself. “Or, you know, it could have been perfect. Neither of us would have ever had to deal with them again.” 

“Yeah, well, now we’re going to have to deal with them every day.” 

Both of them fall silent. Kei, because he can hear the venom in his own voice, and Yamaguchi, as he quietly contemplates things. Neither of them need to bring up the trust Hinata put in Kageyama this afternoon. Only an idiot would jump with their eyes closed, and still expect to hit the ball. Especially not when neither of them share Marks.

Only an idiot would trust someone who shares a Mark with them. Kei sees the truth in that around him all the time. Even Yamaguchi is an idiot when it comes to things like soulmates and Marks. And yet, he still keeps moving forward, still keeps coming to volleyball practice, even when he would prefer not to.

Winning with the freak duo’s quick ends up being just as frustrating as losing against it, Kei discovers. There’s something about it that makes him grind his teeth together. Part of that could be their loss against Seijou though, even though they technically won. 

Something changes. Kei can’t really put his finger on it, but Karasuno’s team is nothing like his junior high team, and it’s screwing with everything he knows. Yamaguchi wants more. Confirmation isn’t needed for him to know that much. People who don’t care about club activities don’t scowl out the train window, especially not after a technical win. People who don’t care about club activities don’t show up to practice every day, dragging their best friend along with them through the use of wide, unresistable puppy eyes. 

Then the practice match with the Neighbourhood Association only makes everything worse. It makes him itch, every inch of him protesting against the thought of Yamaguchi’s careful attention towards the pinch server. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

Not knowing what to do bothers him, it always does.

That feeling of being annoyed fills him. Kei can’t move past it as he sits on the bus beside Yamaguchi, as they drive to their practice match with Nekoma. His stomach drops when he glances over. 

Yamaguchi is almost always careful to keep the simple box on the inside of his wrist hidden from sight, only ever examined when he’s alone or with Kei. But right now, he’s peering beneath his cover, like it might contain the secrets of the galaxy. Kei quickly looks around. Luckily, Hinata and Kageyama are making fools of themselves again, meaning no one is paying attention to Yamaguchi. 

“I bet you won’t meet your soulmate until you’re thirty,” he says, as he turns his attention to the scenery starting to blur out the window. “It’ll happen at some boring meeting at your boring job, and then you’ll phone me afterwards. To tell me I was right, of course.” 

Yamaguchi lets his cover drop back into place. “C’mon, Tsukki, do you have to be like this today?” 

“Be like what?” 

“I don’t know, like this. Like you hate even the idea of me having a Mark. Maybe I’ll meet them at a work thing when I’m thirty. I don’t want to, but nobody knows until it happens.” 

Yamaguchi’s Mark is a square. It’s small and plain, only a couple shades darker than his skin, and begs to be made fun of, when it isn’t hidden from. A lot of people did, before him and Yamaguchi became friends. Only now Yamaguchi stares at him with that wide, almost desperate look he gets sometimes, the same one he’s been using to convince Kei to go to practice for weeks now.

Kei closes his mouth and turns away. “Whatever.” 

“Tsukki.”

“Later.” 

Yamaguchi falls silent just as Hinata is finally forced to switch seats. The entire team is even more hyped up than usual, if such a thing were possible. If they were on anything other than their own bus, they would have gotten kicked off for being badly behaved. 

Nekoma arrives at just about the same time they do. Kei can immediately tell that they’re different from the other teams they’ve gone up against so far. The differences extend further than the apparent teamwork between them. Seijou has teamwork in spades. Nekoma carries themselves differently. If Kei had to guess, he would say they know the feeling of going up against powerful opponents and winning. In other others, they’ll be another annoying team to go up against. 

Kei isn’t happy to be proven right. 

They lose, and then Hinata goes and demands they play another set, without so much as consulting anyone else on the team. His scowl is firmly planted onto his face by the time they get into their fourth set. Just because Kei doesn’t technically have anything else going on today, doesn’t mean he wants to spend most of it playing volleyball. He’s almost tempted to pretend he does have something, because watching Hinata’s expression shatter would be a lot more amusing than playing against these cats again.

Only the point where they all run out of the energy needed to make it through another set comes quickly for everyone other than Hinata. Kei is the first one off of the court when that moment comes, a towel almost falling off his shoulders as he reaches for his water bottle.

“Oh? That’s quite the Mark you have, Number Eleven.” 

Kei freezes, his water bottle crinkling as his grip tightens, then he turns around with a venomous smile. “Mark? I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only marks I have on my skin are the bruises from these ridiculous matches.” 

Something on Nekoma’s captain’s face falters, before quickly solidifying again. “Nah,” he drawls. “That’s definitely a Mark.” 

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.” 

Kei tries his best to turn around and ignore him, but the captain follows insistently. His hair shoots up in at least ten different angles, even while drenched in sweat, and his sharp, narrow eyes keep glancing down to Kei’s left leg. Five seconds pass before Kei breaks, looking downwards. His scowl grows when he sees nothing, just as he always has.

Nekoma’s captain steps around him in the span of a heartbeat, barely missing the wall as he kneels down. Fingers hook beneath Kei’s kneepads before Kei can stumble forwards, a protest on his lips.

The protest dies quickly as Kei twists around. All of his life, he’s believed he doesn’t have a Mark, but that’s a small circle newly painted onto the back of his thigh. The only way it could be something other than a Mark is if this entire day has just been some sort of cruel nightmare. Trust his brain to come up with something as twisted as playing volleyball with Hinata and Kageyama all day as his worst nightmare. Trust his brain to fill in tiny details, like Nekoma’s captain’s smirk as he inches forward, undisturbed by Kei’s flushed face. 

“See?” The asshole touches the back of his thigh, his smirk stretching wider when he glances up at Kei’s face. “That is definitely a Mark.” His finger trails down to the sensitive skin on the back of Kei’s knee, right where his kneepad had been moment ago. “Oh, and here’s another. And even a third.” 

As sure as day, there are two almost-invisible dots just below the newly-formed circle. Unless someone was closely examining his leg, they could have easily been mistaken as freckles or a birth mark. 

“What the hell?” Kei blurts out.

Nekoma’s captain pulls up his sleeve, revealing three Marks on the back of his arm. “Nice to meet you, soulmate. The name is Kuroo Tetsurou, if you haven’t caught that already.” 

“Tsukki?”

The team has their eyes respectfully diverted, with two exceptions. Hinata looks on at him and Kuroo with wide eyes, nothing short of visibly thrilled at the news. Then there’s Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi looking on, his eyes slowly starting to water. 

Any words he might have been able to say quickly dry up in his mouth. 

“Shouldn’t you be a bit more excited to meet one of your soulmates?” Kuroo asks. 

One of his soulmates, Kei repeats back in his own head. Because he doesn’t just have the one soulmate, doesn’t have no soulmates like he thought, but three of them. What he’s supposed to do with this new information is beyond him. 

“Not if he didn’t know about you.” Yamaguchi stands a bit taller now, looking far more mature than he ever could have when Kei first met him. “Which he didn’t. So, just, leave him alone for right now. He deserves that much.” 

“You’re a good friend, aren’t you?” Kuroo doesn’t wait for an answer, simply clapping his hand onto Yamaguchi’s shoulder as he walks by. It’s better this way, Kei thinks. Better that he doesn’t have to deal with this right now. “Later, Tsukki.” 

“Tsukishima Kei,” Kei corrects, quietly. 

Kuroo glances over his shoulder, and then his smirk softens into a smile. “Later, Tsukishima Kei.” 

His hands are shaking by the time Kuroo walks away, only pushed back by Yamaguchi taking the water bottle from his grasp and walking him back to the bus. They sit in silence the entire way back. 

Kei doesn’t know what to do about this.


	5. ii: Bokuto Koutarou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this is now part of a series. It isn't actually that much of a surprise, given that I'd already been working on the other fic when I first posted this. It's a Kyouhaba fic with the same premise, and it would be really awesome if you guys checked it out! There's going to be a couple other instalments as time goes on too, all with the same premise/belonging to the same universe.
> 
> Also, the response on this fic has been absolutely amazing so far. Like, woah, I get blown away everytime I take a look at the stats. Especially the comments. It really just makes my day and I love each and every one of you guys. 
> 
> If you want to talk about this fic or hq in general, pls feel free to find me on [tumblr](https://serendipitousdescent.tumblr.com).
> 
> Enjoy!

Somehow, Fukurodani is even better than Koutarou imagined it would be. Most of his time between graduation and starting high school is spent in rotating bouts of silence and noise as he periodically blurts out everything that could be amazing or horrible about it. 

The reality of it is far different. 

Their homeroom teacher makes a offhanded comment about not bothering other people about their Marks, or preserving the privacy of one another’s Marks, as the teacher puts it. Koutarou sits in the back row, listening with his jaw slack. None of his teachers have ever said anything like that before, not unless they caught something happening. 

That doesn’t stop everyone from saying something, though. Kuroo claims it’s because Koutarou must walk around with his sleeves pulled up all the time, but while he isn’t wrong, he also isn’t around to prove it. As if he could keep the newly-changed Mark on the inside of his wrist hidden away from the rest of the world. That would be like not talking about Kuroo or how awesome Kuroo is at volleyball or that time Koutarou went over to his place and met Kenma for the first time. 

Comments bother him sometimes, because he thinks about them too much. More than Kuroo seems to think about the occasional comments he gets, at any rate. It’s the reason he freezes when one of his classmates stops him in the hall and asks him how he can live with himself. 

“Huh?” 

His classmate rolls his eyes. “C’mon, it’s gotta be kinda like a curse, right? How are you ever going to stay faithful to one of them? Like, eventually things are just going to fall apart, and everyone knows what happens to people whose Marks degrade.” 

“What-” 

“We just had a conversation about this last week, didn’t we, Bokuto-san?” a new voice speaks up. 

“Yeah?” his classmate asks and he looks over at one of Koutarou’s new teammates with a smirk, like Koutarou isn’t there at all. “He tell you all about how he met one of those freaky soulmates of his then?” 

“More like he mentioned he didn’t know quite when to tell assholes like you to fuck off.” His teammate pauses purposely, letting the words settle, before adding, “Of course, he would never say it like that. Bokuto-san is far too polite for something like that.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“Fuck. Off.” 

His teammate, one of the other first years, now that Koutarou thinks about it, snickers as his classmate stalks down the hall, not even glancing back to see if they’re paying attention to him. Koutarou is paying attention, but to something else entirely. Somewhere around the moment his classmate walked up to him, his brain stopped functioning, stuck on playing those last few seconds over and over again. 

“I - thank you?” Koutarou forces out. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s always a pleasure to verbally punch someone in the face. I’m Komi Haruki, by the way.”

Koutarou’s confusion breaks as he gapes at Komi. “I knew that!” 

“Uh-huh, and I’m Japan’s best libero,” Komi says, his smirk unfaltering. 

“We’re on the same volleyball team, so of course I know your name. I already memorized everyone’s names!” 

“Really?” Komi’s smirk grows fractionally. “Can you name everyone for me?” 

His mind is terrifyingly blank.

Getting into Fukurodani is one of the most important things that has ever happened to him, so Koutarou went through the effort of memorizing everyone’s names last week. Or he attempted to. He must have tried to memorize them, because he remembers repeating them to Kuroo over a video call. Just right now, not one of those names is popping back into his head. 

Maybe going over everyone’s names with Kuroo had actually been a dream. It would have been a really strange dream, nothing like the other dreams he’s had of Kuroo, but it definitely could have been one. Even with that being a dream, he should be able to remember someone’s name. Practice has been going on for nearly three weeks now, and he’s had plenty of conversations with people. Unless those are also potential dreams, and it’s actually only the second day of classes. 

Komi laughs, smacking his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it! You know what? I still don’t know what the captain’s name is.” 

“You… don’t?” Koutarou asks, slowly. 

“I think it ends with ‘-moto,’ but I’m not entirely certain.” Komi starts down the hall and his gaze stays on Koutarou until he falls into step beside him. “Then again, I’m horrible with names.” 

“So am I.”

Komi accepts the confession with a laugh, his expression unfaltering as they walk through the halls. The school is big enough that getting back to class has been an adventure these past few weeks, but this is different. This is almost like walking to class with a friend. 

Talking to the other members of the volleyball team is easier after that. The revelation that a faculty member held a meeting with everyone doesn’t even take away away from it. His Marks were only briefly mentioned to them anyways, because that isn’t the important part. Making sure he doesn’t run into problems with other students is apparently important.

Maybe that should bother him. Koutarou grins at Kuroo over their laptop cameras, not-so secretly touched, whenever he starts getting annoyed on Koutarou’s behalf about it. That makes him feel so much better about everything. On one hand, the volleyball team talks to him regularly and don’t care about his Marks. On the other hand, Koutarou now has an awesome soulmate who worries himself sick over the thought of people not genuinely like Koutarou. All of that comes with a side of jokes that make Koutarou laugh too. 

Training for Inter High starts a lot sooner than Koutarou would have ever guessed, only a month and a bit after the school year starts. Their team is a bit awkward with three first years being bumped into the position of starter, but they’re making it work. Practice is four times a week, with Wednesdays as off days, and Koutarou loves it more than anything else. 

Most of his time is spent thinking about volleyball, about getting better at volleyball. His skills were already awesome, but now he’s even better because he has a team behind him. A team that lets him spike the ball. A team that cares, regardless of what anyone else might think. 

“But they’ve been asked to treat you nicely,” Kuroo says, a note of frustration leaking into his voice. “Real friends don’t do that, Bo. Real friends are more than just guys who are coincidentally nice to you after someone asks them to be.” 

“They still would be if someone hadn’t asked them!” 

“You don’t know that for certain.” 

Koutarou makes a face, his mouth scrunched up with his own frustration because Kuroo has brought up this point before, and he doesn’t know how to respond to it. “So, what?” 

“Bo-” 

“It doesn’t matter! Being nice isn’t the same as going out of their way to hang out with me. Which they do.” 

“They do?” The computer screen freezes, a taken aback expression stuck on Kuroo’s face for nearly five whole seconds before it switches over to Kuroo watching him, his head tilted slightly to the side. “I think my connection might be a bit bad in my room here, sorry. Anyways, dude, you text me all throughout your lunchtime. How would they be hanging out with you if you’re alone during lunch?” 

Koutarou starts to laugh awkwardly. “Ah, because my school doesn’t have lunch at the same time your school has lunch?” 

“Then what are-” Kuroo cuts himself off with a groan. “How haven’t you gotten caught yet?” 

“Sorry, bro, but I’m never going to reveal my secret powers to you. They might be used for the power of evil, and I can’t stand for that.” 

“Just so you know, though, if I did overhear someone talking shit about you, I would punch them in the face. You might not talk about anything happening, but I can tell when something happens.” 

Koutarou snorts, his awkward laughter quickly turning genuine. 

“What?” Kuroo asks, sidetracked. 

“I was just-” Koutarou cuts himself off with another snort, a grin quickly spreading across his face. “I was trying to picture you punching someone.” 

“Excuse you, I’m offended that you won’t take me at my word. I would absolutely punch someone in the face for you.” 

Koutarou shakes his head, sharply. “No, no. You would definitely punch them, but then you would, like, start complaining that their face hurt your hand or you wouldn’t know what to do afterwards and just walk away casually, then trip or something.” 

“Bo.” 

He looks up. 

“I would punch someone for you, regardless of any personal challenges I’d come across while doing it.” 

They hold each other’s gazes for a long moment through the computer screen, neither of them saying a word. Then the silence breaks with the sound of Koutarou’s laughter and his drops down to his desk. A moment later, Kuroo joins in, loud and genuine, and it only makes Koutarou laugh all the harder. 

Neither of them stop. Neither of them can stop, because every time Koutarou looks up, he bursts out into a new round of laughter as he sees the awkward flush of Kuroo’s face and the amused crook of his mouth. By the time his mother pokes her head into his room to call him down for dinner, they’re both on the verge of tears, and she smiles brightly at them, before slowly closing the door behind her again.

.

.

.

“I’m a starter,” Koutarou says, slowly.

Almost stranger than that is how he can hear the amazement in his own voice, like he’s taken a step out of his own body in some surreal experience. This is a surreal experience. Koutarou can’t stop staring down at his volleyball jersey and the big, black nine right in the middle of it. 

Koutarou laughs, lightly. “I’m starting in my first year on the team.” 

“Bo.” Koutarou looks up to see Kuroo smirking at him. “It’s almost like you trained for months to get to this point.” 

“I-”

“If you even try apologizing, I will personally beat you so badly that you’ll never recover from the humiliating defeat,” Kuroo says, with the slightest trace of amusement. 

Koutarou blinks. “You’ll… beat me?” 

“At Spring High, naturally.” 

Koutarou holds back a laugh as he sees the tips of Kuroo’s ears start to turn red. Normally, he wouldn’t hold back, but normally he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of the team noticing him standing by the door, instead of warming up for the match. If that happens, Kuroo will have to go back to the stands and wait until Fukurodani’s match starts in half an hour. 

Things have been better since Koutarou brought Kuroo to that community centre with Kenma, at least. Amazingly better, even. The Kuroo now and the Kuroo from a few weeks ago are hardly comparable, but in the best way possible. 

“I’ll look forward to it!” he says, beaming. “Of course, you aren’t going to win, but watching you try will be fun.” 

“Shit, Bo.” 

Koutarou stops, the force of his grin briefly fading. “Huh?” 

“Nothing. I just - I won’t let you win either. So, don’t expect victory when the time comes, got it?” Kuroo says, then shakes his head to hide a hint of a smile. 

“Kuroo-” 

“Bokuto, stop flirting! Kuroo-san will still be around after the match,” the captain shouts from the other side of the gym. 

Koutarou hesitates. Something feels off about the way that Kuroo is watching him, though he doesn’t have the first idea what it is. He watches Kuroo for a long moment, before he comes to the decision that whatever is going on with Kuroo doesn’t seem to be a bad thing. Kuroo wouldn’t be smiling if it were. 

The grin on Kuroo’s face only grows as he waves at Koutarou and steps back out into the hall. Too bad he couldn’t stay for longer, but Koutarou is itching to move, to train, to start this match and win and win and win. He can think about everything else later. 

Warm up goes by more quickly than it should. Or maybe not, because his muscles are loose and ready to go, and he needs to play, but something feels off. It isn’t like every other time he’s played in a match. Not quite the butterflies Konoha complains about as they walk towards the main gym, because Koutarou isn’t nervous about the match. 

Something is simply off. 

The first match goes by without a hitch, but it isn’t great. 

Koutarou only manages to score two or three points himself, and they don’t quite feel like they normally do. His hands still sting a bit as he frowns down at them. But the problem is that they don’t sting in the same way they always do after he hits a good spike. Never before has he noticed how it feels to hit a good spike compared to a bad one. This must be what a bad spike feels like though, because he doesn’t know what else it could be. 

“You okay?” Konoha asks, offering out a ball from the second gym’s bin. 

Koutarou takes it. “Uh, I think so?” 

“If you want, I could ask someone to get Kuroo-san in here.” 

Koutarou slowly shakes his head. 

Nothing quite feels right, but he should be able to handle it without Kuroo. All Kuroo needs to do right now is sit in the stands and watch him win the next match too. 

His fingers twitch around the volleyball, and he walks around to the other side of the net to get back in line. If he hits this next spike properly, then all of his problems leading up to this point have just been his imagination. If he doesn’t, well, then he will have to deal with that when he gets there. Most of his life has been spent playing volleyball anyways, so this should be second nature to him. Spiking has been second nature to him for years now. 

The line keeps moving forward until Koutarou is at the front. Their third year manager throws the ball towards the setter, just like she’s done for everyone else. The setter tosses it into the air. He runs and jumps, his eyes closing just as he feels it hit his hand. 

The ball smacks into the ground. 

Koutarou opens his eyes. 

His stomach drops. 

The ball isn’t on the other side of the net. Instead, it isn’t more than a foot or two in front of him and the only possible explanation is that he hit it into the net. This failure, this feeling of wrongness, is all on him. 

They’re rushed back to the main gym before Koutarou gets the chance to try spiking again. Then they’re on the court, their second match starting on the count of eight, nine, ten, and his legs feel unsteady beneath him as a steady mantra of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ echoes through his head. 

Halfway through the set, Yamaji-sensei pulls him off of the court and replaces him with Konoha after three failed spikes. Three failed spikes that Koutarou purposely attempted to get, even when the ball wasn’t necessarily coming towards him. Someone must have seen how badly he screwed up. Everyone must have seen it. 

Kuroo must have seen him mess up. 

Watching the rest of the match hurts, like someone is physically pulling at his heart. All Koutarou wants to do is go back out there and prove that he can play better than that, prove to Kuroo that this isn’t the least he can do. His legs are all but vibrating with the need to do something, but Yamaji still doesn’t put him back in. 

Yamaji doesn’t even seem to consider putting him back in. Koutarou only lasts a few minutes telling himself that not going back on the court is a good thing, that he would likely make them lose the game in the end. After so much time not getting to play, this should be his moment to shine. 

They win the game, but not with any of Koutarou’s help. On one hand, that means they’ll play again tomorrow and Koutarou will be put back on as a starter, according to Yamaji’s speech after the game. It was just a bit of nerves about his first big match, and Koutarou easily swallows the excuse. Tomorrow will be another day, a day where he will be back out on the court. Then he’ll win, like he was supposed to today. 

“Bo?” 

Koutarou turns, guilt following after the relief he feels at the sight of Kuroo. “Hey! I thought Nekoma left already.” 

“They did,” Kuroo says, simply. “I got Yaku to tell them that I’d find my own way back from here.” 

“Shouldn’t you have gone with them?” he asks with a frown. 

“Bo.” Kuroo exhales slowly when Koutarou finally meets his gaze, far too soft for everything that has happened today. Koutarou can’t stop his shoulders from slumping, from his gaze dropping again. “Making sure you’re alright is more important than spending an extra hour on the train. Things were rough out there today. You…” 

Kuroo trails off, but Koutarou can fill in the blanks easily enough. “I messed up.” 

“Yeah, that.” 

Konoha gestures for him to come join the others from behind Kuroo, and any resemblance of being fine drains away. He should go back with them. They have another set of matches tomorrow, as well as a team meeting about who they’re going up against once they get back to the school. Koutarou never pays much attention to those things, but maybe this time it will help. 

Only Kuroo is still carefully watching him, like he’s afraid that Koutarou will break into pieces. It almost makes Koutarou smile, because he knows it won’t happen, at least not the way Kuroo seems to think it will. 

Nerves doesn’t really explain his sudden inability to do anything at all. It had been as if he had lost control over his body for the afternoon, only it was just his body while he was playing volleyball. He wants to be able to say it was nerves, but he can’t. He wants to be able to say he played the best he could, but the truth is that he wouldn’t have gotten this far if his team weren’t so forgiving. 

Kuroo abruptly pulls him into a hug and his world narrows down to the feeling of Kuroo’s body against his own, of warmth and comfort, and Kuroo’s chin tucked over his shoulder. By the time Koutarou realizes what’s happening, they should be pulling apart, but instead he tugs Kuroo closer and drops his head onto Kuroo’s shoulder. 

“Just kick some ass tomorrow, alright?” Kuroo says, quietly. “Don’t let your nerves get the best of you either or I’m going to have to give them an ass-kicking myself.” 

The word ‘nerves’ still doesn’t quite ring right, but Koutarou doesn’t know which word he should use instead, so he just nods. “Of course.”

.

.

.

The rest of the tournament goes by without a hitch. Koutarou wakes up the next morning feeling better than ever, and while there are a few moments where that odd feeling from before creeps back, they’re almost nonexistent. He doesn’t have the time to feel like that, not when he has so much to prove. They get through the preliminaries ranked second in their district.

Nationals aren’t quite so easy, given that they only win two matches before losing in their third. Everything is just so big. It’s the biggest gymnasium Koutarou has ever competed in. Just the ceiling itself feels like it’s kilometres above his head. Then everyone has their eyes on him, and it’s the greatest feeling in the world. Every time he hits an amazing spike, it makes him feel like he’s soaring high above the building. 

Other teams start whispering about his impressive crosses, and Koutarou can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the tournament. Not only are they noticing him, but they also think he’s someone they need to watch out for. 

Amongst all that is Kuroo. 

Nekoma makes it to Nationals as well, which means Kuroo gets to join their modest cheering squad. More importantly, it means Kuroo gets to spend his free time cheering on Koutarou. His teammates start snapping at him halfway through their second match, because he keeps getting distracted by what he thinks might be Kuroo’s hair amongst the crowd. 

Tournaments never really last for long though, and before they know it, they’re back at school and training for Spring High. The third years stay, and it’s a shock when Koutarou realizes they’re expected to. Training for a possible university scholarship is just as important to them as studying for entrance exams. When it comes to his own future, it feels like a weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders. Exams have never been his strong point. 

Practice matches start to pour in on top of other practice matches too, until they have one almost every week until Spring High. Yamaji doesn’t allow practice matches until after Inter High, which ramps up their training even more now that they are having them. 

It’s one of Koutarou’s favourite things about training. 

Weekend training camps mean even more practice matches than other weeks too. Fukurodani has some sort of agreement with a few other schools in the area, which just happens to include Nekoma. Him and Kuroo spend a whole night talking once they find out, planning and strategizing because now that Kuroo is a reserve player, he gets to come to the training camp as well. 

The two of them spend most of the summer together, playing volleyball. Nobody bothers to watch over them. Nobody makes sure they don’t sneak away to steal whispered conversations with each other. Nobody tells them that their plans to get away and start searching for their other two soulmates are starting to border on ridiculous. None of the plans stand a chance of happening, but they still mean something. They mean more than Koutarou could ever put into words. 

Summer ends too quickly. Both of them have classes they have to go back to, and Spring High is waiting just around the corner. 

“Do you think we’ll ever meet our soulmates?” Kuroo asks, abruptly. 

Spring High starts in a handful of days, a convenient excuse to spend their free day together. 

Kenma actually spent most of the afternoon with them, playing volleyball with them for a little while before retiring to his handheld console. Koutarou doesn’t claim to understand Kenma, not even slightly, but he’s important to Kuroo. 

Faded orange light filters through the tree branches above them now. It manages to light up Kuroo’s face from where Koutarou is laying with his head on Kuroo’s lap, far more comfortable than the uncomfortable tickle of grass throughout the rest of his body. 

His answer still comes easily. “Of course.” 

“Right. Maybe I’ll ask if the sky is blue next.” Koutarou’s gaze flickers up towards the sky, prompting Kuroo to smirk. “Are you trying to say that the sky isn’t blue right now, Bo? Because I don’t know, but that looks pretty blue to me.” 

“Dude.” 

“Unless you don’t know what blue looks like?” 

“Kuroo.” 

“I can’t believe you hid this from me for all these months. Tell me, Bo, are you colourblind or is there something else going on?” 

The laughter starts out in small spurts before coming full force. Koutarou rolls onto his side as his chest starts to ache from the effort, turning his head into Kuroo’s thigh and cutting off the conversation. He can hear a soft snicker from above him, but trying to breathe properly is too consuming to do anything about it. 

Kuroo’s laughter stops all at once. Just as Koutarou is about to ask why, he feels a hand on his head, fingers carding themselves through his hair, and the words die in the back of his throat. There’s red high on Kuroo’s cheeks when Koutarou peeks up to get a better look. Laughing too much isn’t a problem anymore. He would never laugh when Kuroo is touching him so softly, like he’s something that needs to be treasured. 

Koutarou has no intentions on correcting that, if it means things stay like this. 

“I really want to meet them,” he blurts out. 

Kuroo’s hand stills, but only briefly. “I do too. Like, who do they even think they are, anyways? It’s rude to make people wait like this.” 

“But they’re probably waiting for us too,” Koutarou says, staring ahead at Kuroo’s stomach. “Maybe we’ll meet one of them really soon, then have to wait a really long time before we meet the other one. Or maybe the two of them have already met each other and it’ll be one big, happy introduction.” 

“If they’re all like you, then I’ll never be able to recover.” 

Koutarou opens his mouth to retort, then pauses and frowns. “Recover?” 

“There is only enough strength in me to fawn over one Bokuto Koutarou for my lifetime.” Kuroo glances down at him, the corner of his mouth lifting even as their gazes don’t quite meet. “I’m joking, Bo. Sort of. If both of them are like you, then I’ll be spending all my time struggling to keep up.” 

“You’ll love them too, though.” 

“That was never in doubt.” 

“I can’t wait.”

.

.

.

Spring High is even more amazing than Inter High had been. Koutarou starts out on a high, a high that doesn’t have a chance of fading. Only about a third of his crosses are blocked, and once he watches as a botched spike ends up lightly sailing over the blockers’ heads.

A grin slowly spreads across his face as they stare up at him from the floor, defeated and desperate. Koutarou watches from above and his veins feel like they’re on fire, an odd power filling him. It happens in the final match of the preliminaries, and that feeling stays with him for almost all of Nationals. 

Kuroo gets switched in as a starter for Nationals too after another middle blocker sprains his wrist. Koutarou only gets to spend one match in the stands, cheering at the top of his lungs. Then Fukurodani and Nekoma face off.

From the moment Koutarou steps onto the court, he can tell this is different from their practice matches together. His fingers tap tap an unknown rhythm along his thigh. Every time he looks up, Kuroo is watching him. All Koutarou has to do now is wait. 

Wait to defeat his soulmate. 

Wait for the referee to start the game. 

Wait for the ball to go to the setter. 

Wait for the sitter to toss the ball to him.

His hand hits the ball and the following smack echoes through the stadium. Nekoma doesn’t have the time to go after it. They’re reduced to standing there and staring, just like Koutarou is.

“Good ball!” Sarukui calls from the sidelines. 

Everyone else follows, hands patting his back as he stares forward. 

In the end, they win the match. It isn’t even a question, because Koutarou manages to get past their defences and score more points than everyone else combined while Nekoma struggles to come up with a counter-strategy. Koutarou doesn’t know why they’re trying so hard. The only thing that would distract him right now is Kuroo. 

Luckily, Kuroo seems distracted throughout the entire match. Right from the moment Koutarou hits that first spike, really. 

“Bo.”

Koutarou turns and grins at the sight of Kuroo in the hall. His cheeks ache from the effort, have been since the game ended. If anything were different, he might think this was all a dream. 

Actually, maybe this is a dream.

“Dude, you were amazing-”

His words die before he can finish his thought. Thinking about anything is too difficult with fingers buried in his hair, with Kuroo’s forehead resting against his own. The look in Kuroo’s eyes is what really stops him, dark and heavy like looking into a large pot of honey. 

Neither of them move. Saying something, anything will tear this closeness apart, and this moment feels more intimate than if Koutarou were to lean in those last few centimetres. Their breath mingles together. The world quiets. They can’t possibly be alone, not here in this stadium full of volleyball courts and a country’s worth of teams, but it feels like they are.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” he says, quickly, “please.” 

“Damn, Bo, you’re almost eager or something.” 

Kuroo is stalling, Koutarou realizes belatedly. Just like how his fingers are shaking on the nape of Koutarou’s neck. Just like how his gaze flickers down to Koutarou’s lip for only a split second. 

This is a big deal to him, on the same level as his friendship with Kenma or meeting the others. Koutarou is a big deal to him. The realization almost sends him to the ground, but right now, Kuroo is depending on him, whether he knows it or not. 

Koutarou closes those last few centimetres. Kuroo’s lips are soft, soft and capable of melting him from the inside out. Neither of them know quite what they should do from here. The slight friction of their lips moving as they breathe is almost overwhelming. The warmth radiating off of Kuroo’s body certainly is. Then Kuroo leans in and presses their lips more firmly together, that warmth becoming a deep heat that travels down to their toes.

“Win,” Kuroo whispers into the space that separates them, moments later. “I’m trusting you to win.”

.

.

.

Fukurodani only wins one more match before they lose. The competition is close, closer than it has any right to be, and it makes losing sting all the more in the following weeks.

Then he doesn’t have time to think about anything other than exams, not when he’s somehow managed to fall behind in every single class. Kuroo laughs at him over the phone most nights, because Kuroo happens to be at the top of all of his classes. Or close enough to the top that it’s all the same.

Thankfully, final exams only last for a week, then there’s a brief break before Koutarou can go to volleyball practice again. He’s a second year now, with his position as a regular secured after Spring High. Which means bringing in the new first years is nothing other than exciting. 

“Akaashi Keiji. I’m in Class 1-6, and I’ve played as a setter since elementary school.” 

Koutarou snaps back to attention for a brief moment before continuing to scan the line of first years. None of them look like amazingly awesome wing spikers, but that doesn’t mean anything. Talent that he can sweep under his wing could be waiting anywhere.

He looks back along the line in the other direction, and stops once he realizes that someone is staring at him. Well, not quite at him, but the intense stare directed at his arm is hard to miss. Beaming at Akaashi Keiji is his first reaction, just like it always is when he notices someone staring at his Marks. Most people who look at his Marks don’t look like models or play volleyball or look shocked, instead of horrified. 

Those are all good reasons to smile. 

At the same time, Koutarou isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to show off his Marks. All it takes is a slight shift of his arm, making it easier for the first year to get a good look at all three of his Marks.

Then Akaashi almost steps forward, his stare intensifying to the point where Koutarou can’t help but look at his shoulder. 

Two circles, their edges just touching, are there. Two circles that are separate from Kuroo’s Mark, separate from the inactive Mark on the inside of his elbow. It certainly didn’t look like that a few minutes ago. 

He exhales, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Woah.” 

The captain pauses in the middle of his speech with a sigh. “Is there something wrong, Bokuto?”

Wrong isn’t the right word.

How can it be the right word with his soulmate standing across from him? 

“Yes. I mean, no - wait, that’s not what I mean at all!” Koutarou lets out a frustrated noises, forcing himself to look away from Akaashi. His face is almost awe-strikingly pretty, right down to Koutarou being struck down by it. “Everything is fantastic. Well, you should stop worrying so much, because your speech is fine. Amazingly fine, even.” 

Akaashi snorts and Koutarou looks back again without hesitation. Their gazes meet, then that feeling back from Inter High floods him all at once, now with the unwelcome addition of butterflies in his stomach. 

If Koutarou can’t so much as get a sentence out, how is he supposed to be good enough for someone like Akaashi Keiji. Staring at the ground seems like the best way to get his face to stop burning up, his fingers itching to thread through his hair and tug. Akaashi is his soulmate. Akaashi is his soulmate, and happens to be even more stupidly pretty than Kuroo is. Akaashi is also a first year at Fukurodani, where Koutarou will see him every day until he graduates. Akaashi is standing right there, not the slightest time or distance between them.

Koutarou doesn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

“I’m glad you enjoy my pep talks, but please put that enthusiasm towards practice instead,” the captain says. 

Konoha laughs and leans over to bump their shoulders together. “You want Bokuto to put more enthusiasm into practice?” 

“Right, no. Bokuto, put the same amount of enthusiasm towards practice as you normally do, but keep your mouth shut while I’m trying to talk.” 

A laugh rises up from the other regulars, and Koutarou distractedly joins in. The rest of the meet and greet goes by without a problem, as if his soulmate weren’t standing right there. Practice is really where the problems really set in. He can’t concentrate for even a moment, and certainly not as he stands on the court and thinks about how much of a failure he is. More spikes are botched in that one afternoon than the last few months combined.

Others must realize that something is going on, but the last thing Koutarou wants to do is explain. Because explaining his mood means explaining Akaashi, and Kuroo needs to be the first one to know.

Kuroo needs to be here right now.

After that realization comes to him, it’s impossible to get out of his head. Koutarou walks out of the gym in a haze, the rest of the team following from somewhere behind him. 

He doesn’t even see the dark shape on the grass until it calls out to him. “Hey.”

Koutarou stops and blinks, his confusion slowly burning away. That is Akaashi standing just outside of the gym, real and true. His heart nearly stops in his chest as he comes to his senses, because Akaashi staying behind isn’t something he stopped to consider. “You stayed.”

“Of course I did.” Something about Akaashi’s voice is almost comforting in its bluntness, comforting in every way except the way Koutarou needs it to be. “It would have been too difficult to try tracking you down tomorrow, even if I haven’t had the chance to look at my Mark yet.” 

“Heh, well, I’m always here,” Koutarou says, thoughtlessly.

He can feel someone else’s gaze on him, sending a chill up his spine. The team must be finally leaving the gym. 

All at once, everything feels all too real. If the team finds out about Akaashi, then everyone will know about Akaashi and his soulmates and all of them already know, but not like this. They don’t know in the way that makes Koutarou’s skin start to prickle, in the way that he wants to start shouting that Akaashi must have gotten something wrong.

“I need to call Kuroo,” he blurts out. 

His feet start to move before he even realizes what’s happening.

.

.

.

“Dude, I thought we weren’t going to video chat for another couple hours,” Kuroo comments, as he twirls around in his desk chair. “That was the plan. I get a couple hours after practice to make sure Kenma is cool with the team, you get to do your homework before telling me all about your first years.”

“I met Akaashi.” 

Kuroo stops and opens his mouth to ask. 

Only when he closes it again, looking dubious, does it occur to Koutarou that Kuroo has no idea who Akaashi is. Akaashi is Akaashi is their soulmate is already an equation in his head. Not an easy equation, but still there. But Kuroo still doesn’t know that anything happened this afternoon.

Never before has Koutarou been more grateful about his parent’s Thursday date nights. He doesn’t know what he would tell them quite yet, and he would have to tell them something. Even explaining things to Kuroo feels unnatural, like he’s going to wake up in the morning and remember he just ran away from one of his soulmates. Or worse, realize that Akaashi never actually waited hours for him to come out of the gym.

“Akaashi?” 

Koutarou nods, then slumps down onto his desk, burying his head in his hand. “Akaashi Keiji. He’s in Class 1-6, and he’s been a setter since elementary school.” 

“Is that supposed to-” Kuroo cuts himself off, and Koutarou doesn’t dare to look up. “Your Mark is different.” 

“I know.” 

“And you didn’t tell me.” 

Koutarou’s head shoots up at the hurt tone, his eyes wide with horror. “I’m trying to do that right now! Ah, I knew I should have left practice early to phone you. Or I could have phoned while I was walking home, but then I was distracted, because Akaashi talked to me and then I couldn’t even think.” 

“I don’t remember turning your brain to mush,” Kuroo counters. 

Koutarou throws himself back into his chair and refuses to look up at the computer screen. It isn’t that Kuroo is wrong, but he can’t remember for the life of him why meeting Kuroo was so different. 

Kuroo laughs, the sound translating as static over Koutarou’s speakers. “Is he some sort of genius or something?” 

“No,” Koutarou admits. The stain on his carpet really is interesting, now that he’s taking the proper time to look at it. “Maybe? Today is the first time we’ve been introduced to any of the first years, and they haven’t played with us at all yet.” 

“And you still forgot to phone me afterwards?” 

“It was just-” Koutarou groans, then squishes his face between his hands as he stares helplessly at Kuroo. “He looks like a model. Like, dude, his _cheekbones_. And his eyes. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die, if he was the last thing I was ever going to see.” 

“Wait. You mean that I’m no longer the attractive one in this relationship?” Kuroo asks, the effect of his tortured tone only slightly lessened by his quickly growing smirk. 

“Relationship?” 

“Wrong thing to focus on, Bo.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Koutarou gives up and reaches for his phone. He hasn’t dared to touch it since before practice, in case he gave into the temptation of looking up Akaashi. 

Doing just that will be worth it for Kuroo’s reaction. A quick search brings up a singular social media profile, one that’s neat and tidy compared to Koutarou’s, but it also comes with a picture of Akaashi. It isn’t just a blurry selfie or volleyball-related, but a picture of Akaashi smiling in front of what must be the gates to his junior high. The picture can’t be more than a couple weeks old too. Koutarou stares at it for a long moment, incapable of stopping himself from zooming in on the picture before he shoves his phone in front of the laptop camera. 

Silence echoes throughout his bedroom. Koutarou doesn’t have anything but empathy though, because he is entirely aware of what Akaashi looks like. And Kuroo didn’t even get a proper warning outside of Koutarou’s flailing. 

Akaashi should come with a warning label in the middle of his forehead.

Actually, a warning label might not be enough. He might have been too excited about showing off his Marks at the time, but meeting Akaashi’s gaze could have very well made him melt into a puddle. 

A strangled noise finally comes out of the speakers. “Please, put that thing down, Bo. I never going to be able to stop if you don’t.” 

“Right?” Koutarou asks, dropping his arm. 

“Is that legal?” 

“Probably?” Koutarou briefly thinks it over, then shrugs. “It’s not like anyone can just stop him from existing.” 

“It shouldn’t be.” 

He frowns. “But if his existence is illegal, then he can’t be our soulmate. Or hopefully our soulmate. I mean, we know he’s my soulmate, but-” 

“Bo.” Koutarou looks up and the rest of his words disappear at Kuroo’s suddenly serious expression. Then it breaks into something more anguished and Kuroo runs an absentminded hand through his messy hair. “I wish I could tell you he’s definitely mine too.” 

“I know.” 

“And that everything will work out.”

“It will work out.” 

Kuroo snorts, briefly broken out of his melancholy. “Only you, Bo. Only you would have so much faith. Anyways, want to meet up after practice tomorrow? We could go to that cafe you like a few blocks from Fukurodani.”

.

.

.

The moment Koutarou starts walking to the cafe, he knows something is wrong. Well, something other than how much he smells from practice is wrong. Kuroo isn’t responding to any of his texts, even twenty minutes after the fact.

By now, Kuroo should be either on his way to the cafe or already there. The trek between Nekoma and Fukurodani isn’t too far, and Koutarou ended up running late after practice. Which is only inevitable after Sarukui accidentally knocked over a bin of volleyballs right after they had all been collected. First years don’t start until next week, and only the two of them were left in the gym anyways, leaving them to clean it up themselves. 

Soon enough, they’ll be able to recruit the first years into helping. Just like they were consistently expected to help out last year. 

His pace slows as he spots the cafe. Nothing inherently seems off about the cafe itself. People are lined up outside the door or standing just inside, like they normally are. The coffee simply looks like the cafe, complete with the heavy smell of coffee and cake, which means whatever is wrong doesn’t have to do with the location. 

Koutarou peers through the window and relaxes at the sight of familiar, messy hair. Kuroo is here. Kuroo is here, and probably just forgot to check his phone before sitting down. Or maybe he got distracted by the cakes. That’s something he wouldn’t blame Kuroo for, not even slightly. 

Then he stops. 

Kuroo is sitting at a table in the back, but he isn’t alone. Someone sits across from him, their back to Koutarou, but he doesn’t need any help in recognizing them. 

Him and Kuroo make eye contact over the top of Akaashi’s head, and Kuroo relaxes. Maybe most people wouldn’t notice the slight drop of his shoulders, but Koutarou does. He also sees the way Kuroo motions for him to come inside, as if Koutarou can move so much as an inch. Even if he wanted to, he suddenly can’t remember how. 

As if sensing what’s going through Koutarou’s head, Kuroo rolls his eyes and pulls up his sleeve. Words catch in the back of his throat at the sight. 

One of the short, straight lines now veers off to the side, opposite of his own. 

Akaashi turns before Koutarou can do much of anything other than stand there uselessly. Looking at him here, through a pane of glass and with waitresses moving between them, is almost more difficult than it had been yesterday. Akaashi’s gaze feels calm and steady as he looks at Koutarou, a far cry from the easy grins and joking laughs him and Kuroo exchanged the first time they met each other.

They’re his soulmates, Koutarou reminds himself, so this shouldn’t be so difficult. Something about Akaashi’s expression changes as Koutarou lurches towards the door, almost softening. Kuroo grins at him as well, wide and relieved.

They’ve been waiting for him.

Koutarou turns on his heel and starts to run, that same, odd feeling tightening in his chest.


	6. ii: Akaashi Keiji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos so far! I hope you enjoy <3

Keiji walks through Fukurodani with bated breath every day. Nothing is wrong with the classes themselves, but that isn’t the problem. The problem is knowing he could run into one of his soulmates at any moment.

But Bokuto doesn’t actually appear around any corners, nor does Keiji really expect him to. Fukurodani is a large school with more than enough places to disappear to. Plus, he’s seen Bokuto walking quickly in the other direction enough times to realize he’s being actively avoided. 

In all honesty, the avoidance would bother Keiji a lot more if it weren’t for Kuroo and their daily conversations. The reassurance that there’s a difference between Bokuto avoiding him because he doesn’t like him and because he doesn’t know how to deal with being flustered around him helps more than Keiji would like to admit. Not that he knows what to do with the latter anymore than the former. 

Practicing with the Fukurodani volleyball team is still amazing, regardless of whether or not Bokuto talks to him. Just being around other people who are as dedicated to the sport as he is is so different from junior high. It makes even improving on a personal level feel easier. The position of reserve setter is all but handed to him on a silver platter within the first month of training with the team, which increases his amount of practice time in turn. 

Most of his time is spent switching between different wing spikers and middle blockers to see who he works best with. Nobody seems to have caught on that Bokuto is his soulmate. Nobody seems to have noticed that both of them have three Marks, for that matter, even if Keiji keeps his covered up. It is honestly a breath of fresh air after his last year of junior high. 

“I want to try you with Bokuto today,” Yamaji tells him, just two weeks before Inter High. 

Keiji glances over at the other side of the court, where Bokuto is excitedly talking with another second year as they put up the net. 

“Look,” Yamaji says, calmly. “I get that your personalities are probably just not compatible, but the entire team with work more smoothly if you’re able to work well with all of our spikers. Even if you aren’t a starter yet, we never know what type of situations we’ll come up against in official matches.” 

“Of course,” Keiji murmurs, swallowing the hurt before it can show. 

His relationship with Bokuto is odd; he knows that. Other people picking up on that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, even if it’s the rest of that sentiment that makes his chest ache. 

By virtue of being soulmates, they should work well together on some level. And watching Bokuto play has only shown him how good he is, as well as made him wonder what it would be like to be close with him. Updates from Kuroo can only takes him so far, only fills in some of the details of what Bokuto is thinking when he’s at practice or disappearing around the corner.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the two of you will end up working together just fine. His enthusiasm grows on you.” Yamaji claps his shoulder. “Bokuto!” 

Bokuto does the last crank of the net and turns. 

His stomach drops. The moment Bokuto spots him standing beside Yamaji is visible, his bright grin fading as he ducks his head. Keiji glances away, incapable of stopping himself when continuing to watch will only lead to more disappointment. 

Yamaji quickly explains the situation to Bokuto once he comes over, then moves on to give Konoha a couple pointers before the reality sinks in. Only a few feet separate them. It’s about the closest they’ve physically been since Bokuto ran away from the cafe. He can still remember the look on his face, the awkward silence as he had to explain what happened to Kuroo. 

“Shall we do this, Bokuto-san?” Keiji asks, quietly. 

Bokuto deflates like air rushing out of a balloon. “Uh-huh.” 

“Okay.” 

Practice that day is worse than any other day Keiji can recall. Between the two of them, they don’t manage to hit a single spike. Keiji knows it’s partially him, that he can’t quite manage to fall in sync with Bokuto, but the way Bokuto walks around in a haze isn’t exactly normal either. 

Bokuto disappears after practice, right when almost all of the equipment is put away and Keiji is in a brief conversation with one of their teammates. Minutes later, he’s staring at the empty spot where Bokuto normally puts his things. Nobody is going to tell him what he should do in this situation. Even Kuroo has run out of ideas to get Bokuto to talk to him. 

The journey home is long and lonely, somehow even more so than usual, despite it being the same route Keiji always takes. His parents eventually give up on getting him to participate in their conversation during dinner too. Keiji pretends he can’t see them sharing looks with each other or why their conversation is so awkwardly casual. They probably already have a good idea of what’s happened. 

Relief comes with an incoming video call the moment Keiji opens his laptop. 

Kuroo looks harried when he answers, his hair somehow messier than it normally is, almost sticking up straight. What really catches his attention though is the straight line of Kuroo’s mouth, without even a hint of a smile or a smirk. 

“What’s wrong?” Keiji asks, automatically. 

“Thanks for letting me know I look like shit. I already knew that, but I’m actually wonderful myself. Yaku has a crush on this girl from the swim team, and it’s just about the most obvious thing in the world. The blush he gets when I bring it up is hilarious.” Kuroo stops at Keiji’s unimpressed stare and sighs. “It’s Bo.” 

“Bokuto?” 

“Yeah, dude, he isn’t okay.” 

The air stops moving through his lungs. 

Kuroo winces. “No, wait, let me rephrase that. That was a mistake. Bo refuses to leave his bed because you’re apparently the best setters he’s ever played with and he didn’t manage to hit even a single toss you sent his way? He was probably exaggerating though.”

“He… wasn’t,” Keiji forces out, “but not all of that is his fault. If I had given him better tosses, he could have hit at least one of them.”

“What part of best setter he’s ever played with did you not hear?” 

Keiji ducks his head. 

At this point, he should say something, anything about what happened. He can see the expectation play out across Kuroo’s face even, before it settles into something calmer. 

“He still hasn’t talked to you.” 

“There were a few words here and there, but most of that was complaining at how badly things were going.” 

“Doesn’t count,” Kuroo says, quickly. “Things make sense now though, because that means he lied to me. And I believed him, because Bo doesn’t normally struggle with talking to people.”

“He doesn’t?” 

Kuroo huffs, very nearly laughing. “Bo is the living definition of a motor mouth, believe it or not. It’s just when you enter the equation do all the words disappear from that big head of his.” 

“But-” 

“He has me. Both of you have me. But I’m at Nekoma with my own volleyball practices to attend, as well as a certain childhood friend who I have to keep out of trouble. You’re right there, along with everything that means.” 

“Call him.” Kuroo stares at him for so long that Keiji almost thinks the screen froze. “We… can do three-way calls, can’t we? I don’t know his username, but there’s something I should say to him. I think there’s something I need to say to him.” 

“We can do that.” 

Kuroo leans forward, his eyes focusing on something other than Keiji’s face. It only takes a few moments for the calling symbol to show up on the screen, and Keiji holds his breath as he waits. 

Not that it takes long for Bokuto to answer. His screen is shrouded in darkness except for Bokuto’s illuminated face as he squints at his phone, half of the gel worn out of his hair. There is likely a pillow in there too, but Keiji is too preoccupied with Bokuto himself, a mess, but undeniably his mess. Kuroo snorts and the screen switches over to him, making Keiji swallow. Both of them are his messes. 

“Bro, I thought we already said good night,” Bokuto murmurs, already half-asleep. 

“We did, we did,” Kuroo says. His smile is small, but inexplicably fond. “There’s someone else who wants to talk to you though.” 

“Is it your mom again? I’ll call her tomorrow.” 

“Nah, not her. Though, she’d still love it if you did that.” 

“Oh. Who then?” 

Kuroo falls silent, clearly giving Keiji his opportunity to speak. Just moments ago, Keiji had known exactly what he wanted to say. But now, if the camera weren’t focused on Bokuto slowly blinking himself to awareness, Keiji would be pressing the call end button without a doubt.

Normally, he isn’t one to put things off when he can deal with them now, but this is a different situation. This is Bokuto, just on the other side of the screen, while Kuroo is here for both of them. He breathes in deeply, spotting the exact moment the microphone picks up the sound and switches over to him. Avoiding it is impossible, because Bokuto’s eyes go wide and he scrambles to sit up properly, neither hanging up nor saying a word. 

“Hello, Bokuto,” Keiji says, softly.

Bokuto’s jaw slackens. “Woah.” 

His face reddens, but he ignores it in favour of charging forward. “Kuroo mentioned you didn’t feel good about practice today.” 

“I, um-” 

“I’ll make sure I’ll do better tomorrow.” 

“But it was all my fault!” Bokuto blurts out. 

That is the most Bokuto has ever spoken to him.

Keiji smiles. “My responsibility as a setter is to make every toss as easy as possible for you to hit. That’s why I’ll ensure you hit one tomorrow.” 

A light snort sends the screen flickering back to Kuroo, briefly throwing Keiji off guard. He’d forgotten they weren’t the only ones on the call. Bokuto whines lowly half a moment later, which makes the screen flicker back, but it still takes him a moment to compose himself again. This is important. This is what he needs to say, what Bokuto needs to hear to make things better between them. 

“I - Of course I’m going to hit the tosses you send me tomorrow! And the next day and the day after that, until you stop sending me tosses!” 

“That’s an ambitious goal,” Keiji says, ignoring the tightness in his throat. “I know you’ll make it.” 

He doesn’t know. 

Bokuto hitting every toss sent to him is impossible, but for all that he seems to be taking that literally, Keiji doesn’t mean it that way. Kuroo will understand, at least. And with any hope, he will agree with the sentiment. 

The screen goes black as Bokuto drops his phone, muffled sounds coming in through the speaker. More muffled than they should be if Bokuto had just dropped his phone. His laptop switches back over to Kuroo after a moment, the sound of him snickering at the two of them filling Keiji’s room. 

“I think you’ve broken him,” Kuroo says smoothly, but there’s the slightest hint of relief as well. “Hopefully he’ll recover from a declaration like that, but I don’t know, all hope might be lost.” 

“There’s no hope, bro. I’m done. Please warn our other soulmate of how dangerous he is.” Bokuto’s voice is suddenly clearer again, though the screen is still dark. 

Keiji lets himself smile, softly. “Isn’t it better to catch them unsuspecting? They might be more likely to stick around that way.” 

“Annnnnd… fatal strike! It was nice knowing you, Bo. I’m sure it won’t be long before I join you, if Akaashi continues like this. To think we should have been making funeral arrangements so young. Just what will people think?” 

That’s when the laughter starts. 

Unclear but unrestrained, it could only be coming from Bokuto. Keiji wishes desperately that he could see the expression on Bokuto’s face, how that pure joy makes the corners of his wrinkle. He’s seen variations of the look from afar, but it’s so different from Kuroo’s amused snickering that the sound alone nearly makes his heart stop in his chest.

“Actually, I think Akaashi isn’t the only one capable of murder through attractiveness,” Kuroo says, smirking. “If the look on Akaashi’s face is anything to go by.”

Keiji groans and buries his face in his hands as the screen switches, then brightens at Bokuto’s suddenly illuminated face. 

“Dude.” Awe fills Bokuto’s voice.

“Right?” 

“Is he always like this?” 

“Nah, it takes a surprising amount to get him flustered. But if we double-teamed him, I’m sure it would be easy.” 

“I’m going to bed now,” Keiji announces loudly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bokuto.” 

Kuroo laughs. “Only Bokuto gets a good night?” 

Keiji hesitates, then stares directly into the camera, perfectly aware that both of them can see him right now. “I’m glad the two of you are my soulmates. Good night.” 

Then he hangs up before either of them can say another word.

.

.

.

Practice should get easier once him and Bokuto start talking regularly. That is what Keiji expects to happen after the first time Bokuto awkwardly shows up at his classroom during lunch and very nearly kidnaps him to eat with the other second year members.

Instead, practice gets more difficult. 

There is only so much time before Inter High starts, and team unity is the area they need to work on the most. A serious air surrounds the regulars at every practice, as they push themselves further and further. Their chances of making it to Nationals are high, given the team’s success there in previous years, and following suit in terms of effort seems only natural. Keiji wants to make this happen, even if he may not get a chance on the court himself. 

Even their free time is spent talking about their competition, rather than class work or friends. Nekoma is even one of the teams they need to look out for, regardless of whatever tension within the team that Kuroo complains about when they talk. 

Keiji isn’t certain how Bokuto got through last year, when Kuroo wasn’t a regular yet. All he talks about now is being part of Nekoma, only barely holding himself back from revealing plays and techniques Kuroo wants to work on for next year. Kuroo is almost more focused on next year than this year. 

There isn’t enough time to worry about that, though. Within the blink of an eye, Fukurodani is getting ready for their first match of the tournament. 

Watching from the sidelines for the first time in years is far more painful than Keiji would have thought. His limbs start to twitch as the other team barely manages to block Bokuto’s crosses, unable to do anything as the amount of points Bokuto scores starts to drop. Of course, the rest of the team can manage. But that isn’t the same as being out there in the thick of things. 

This isn’t where Keiji wants to be. 

They get through the first round, but just barely. Bokuto paces the length of the gym before the next match, having been ordered not to practice spiking by Yamaji. Just looking at him, about ten kinds of lost, hurts. Yamaji knows what he’s talking about, but Keiji can’t help but wonder if this was the wrong decision. 

“Bo.” Kuroo’s nickname for Bokuto slips out without warning, but Keiji doesn’t let himself waver. “I know you’re going to help us win the next match.” 

It should work, because it did before.

But it doesn’t. 

Bokuto stops at the side of the court, his jaw set with frustration. Bright, crackling energy seems to surround him, hands clenching and unclenching before he looks towards the net, forlorn. 

Words aren’t necessary for Keiji to get the hint. What’s unusual is that Bokuto doesn’t explain anyways, because everything Keiji has learned about him these past couple weeks is that he needs to explain things. His own thoughts and feelings make more sense to him after he’s said it all out loud. 

Keiji steps forward and reaches out to pat his cheek. All emotion drains out of Bokuto, even the lingering confusion beneath all that frustration. 

“I, uh, what?” Bokuto manages to say. 

Keiji gives him a small smile. “I believe in you.” 

The next match starts out strong. Bokuto plays his best, a marked difference from the previous match, and that best takes Keiji’s breath away. 

Then in the second set, someone manages to block one of Bokuto’s extreme crosses, the one hardly anyone on their team can deal with. The middle blocker in question looks just as confused as Keiji feels. It wins them the second set, forcing the game to go to a third. 

All of their matches shouldn’t be going to a third set this early in the tournament. Keiji can see that knowledge eat away at the team, at Bokuto, at himself. The third years are having the biggest problem with it, not bothering to hide the annoyed looks they give Bokuto. If he were any more aware of his surroundings, he would likely be hurt. Only the fact that he should stops Keiji from giving them a piece of his mind. 

They gather onto the bus for the day, nobody daring to speak in the face of their bittersweet victory. Just a little bit better, their expressions seem to say, and then we’ll be satisfied. It lingers until they file into the club room, one by one. 

“Akaashi, you’re starting tomorrow.” 

Keiji blinks. “Uh.” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Putting you and Bokuto together these past couple weeks has worked better than I could have expected. And I saw how you calmed him down earlier,” Yamaji continues.

“But-” 

Yamaji gives the setter Keiji seems to be replacing an unimpressed stare. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. Bokuto may not be our ace yet, but you did nothing to support him today. And Akaashi is already capable of playing at your level.” 

The setter falls silent, paling. 

“Any complaints?” 

The next day is better to a degree Keiji didn’t expect. 

Him and Bokuto work amazingly together, easily falling into a rhythm their first couple times practicing together wouldn’t have suggested. Keiji is normally aware of everyone on the court, but never to this extent. He can almost predict exactly where Bokuto will be at any point, rather than what he might do. 

They win both their matches that day with two sets, securing their spot at Nationals. The next day determines their overall ranking, and they just narrowly avoid going up against Nekoma. 

Problems don’t come along again until they actually get to Nationals a few weeks later.

Keiji stays on as the regular setter, his new position celebrated with a night of his favourite movies. Neither Kuroo nor Bokuto are allowed to sleep in his bedroom, but they’re both curl up on the couch with him, half asleep. 

But the problems aren’t with Keiji’s setting. They’re all playing at a different level now. And the other teams figure out how to combat Bokuto’s crosses sooner rather than later. Four rounds in, and they’re forced out of the tournament, their loss weighing them down.

.

.

.

His Marks change after Inter High.

Or at least two out of three do. Keiji glances down at them before bed one night and has stop to look at the sudden changes, as clear as day. Bokuto’s has grown in size, the previously small x almost doubled in size. Two of the ends are pulled in close as well, not quite an x any longer. The changes in Kuroo’s Mark on his thigh is just as obvious. Three of the ends have grown thicker, rounding off near the top, making the fourth look smaller in comparison. 

A vibration from his phone pulls him out of his silent contemplation. Without looking, he already knows it’s just Bokuto saying good night, just like always.

Keiji reaches for his phone. Thinking about this twice isn’t an option, and he forces himself not to pay attention as he opens up the camera. The phone clicks as he takes a picture of his Marks, the proof of his connection with Kuroo and Bokuto. Then he forwards it to both of them. 

Almost immediately, his phone starts to ring, Kuroo’s name and picture popping up on the screen. 

“Which one’s mine?” Kuroo asks, before Keiji can even say hello. 

Keiji huffs out a laugh. “You don’t know?” 

“Well, I’m guessing it’s the one on the bottom left.” Kuroo pauses, doubt quickly building. “That is mine, isn’t it?” 

“It is.” 

“I - yes, good. I mean, it’s obvious, but I’m glad.” 

Keiji sits on his bed, fiddling with the edge of his shorts as he waits for Kuroo to continue. The knowledge that he sent that photo doesn’t weigh on him in quite the same way he thought it would, but that might just be because of Kuroo’s sudden inability to form coherent sentences. 

“Did you… also send it to Bo?” Kuroo asks, abruptly.

“Did you expect me to send that picture to just one of you?” 

“I don’t know.” The admission comes fast and fumbled. “You could be a cruel and unusual guy, Akaashi Keiji. Perhaps you secretly take pictures of other people’s Marks and send them to people who may or may not be your own soulmates. It might be a hobby of yours.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t realize it sooner,” Keiji drawls, waiting for the inevitable snicker from Kuroo before continuing, “Though if you think I have enough time to search for unsuspecting victims, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“Point taken. Bo is going to be so jealous that I managed to phone you first though. Congratulations for joining me in trolling him.” 

“I could always hang up and phone him instead.”

Kuroo snort, his amusement shining through his voice. “The best option would probably be making this a group call. With video chat. Actually, it would be you showing us that Mark of yours in person tomorrow. We’ll skip practice, sneak into a supply closet and enjoy ourselves.” 

“Kuroo, you care far too much about doing well at Spring High to skip,” Keiji says, fondly. 

“Not true.” 

“You’re fostering this team for next year, because you want a place for you and Kenma to enjoy volleyball,” he continues. 

“Kenma is never going to like volleyball. Not in the same way you or I or Bokuto do.” 

“Does that change anything?” 

Kuroo groans and Keiji smiles softly. Nobody can see him like this anyways, and he lets himself fall back onto his bed and stare up at the ceiling. Watching Kuroo attempt to hide his own smile behind his hand is impossible without video chat, but he’s seen it a handful of times and knows it’s there now.

They hang up after a couple more minutes of fumbled conversation, because they’ll see each other tomorrow anyways. The first training camp of the season starts tomorrow at Fukurodani. There should be more than enough opportunities for them to improve their skills over these next few months. If anything, having any time for themselves will be next to impossible. 

Keiji, for one, intends to improve the accuracy of his tosses. Bokuto might claim otherwise, but the truth is that he needs to get better if he’s going to stay on as the team’s setter. He needs to be above and beyond. He needs to be more than someone who can help Bokuto through his off moods. 

All of that disappears when he sees Bokuto the next morning. The bag under his eyes imply more than just a rough night’s sleep, even if Bokuto brightens fractionally at the sight of Keiji. 

“Bokuto, are you-” 

“You need to show me!” 

Keiji blinks, momentarily caught off guard. 

“It isn’t fair,” Bokuto moans, oblivious to the way Konoha has started paying attention. “Kuroo spent all night telling me about how he got to see your Marks over video call last night, but you had already gone to bed! That picture was horrible. How could I sleep after that? How was I supposed to do anything after that?” 

“I just sent Kuroo the same picture I sent you last night,” Keiji says, simply. 

“But-” 

“He lied to make you jealous.” 

“But!” 

Keiji stops and takes a good, long look at Bokuto, immediately softening. “Do you want to find him and hear the truth from him instead?” 

His shoulders slump and he shakes his head. “Nekoma isn’t here yet.” 

“Then we should go wait for them.” 

Bokuto brightens and takes his hand, pulling him back towards the parking lot. His cheeks unwillingly flush, because Bokuto doesn’t let go. He doesn’t do much of anything except firmly hold his hand continue onwards.

Konoha catches his eye, doing nothing to hide his amused smirk, and Keiji can’t stop the rush of warmth at the casual way he follows behind them. As if this new intimacy between him and Bokuto is just an everyday thing. It’s so far removed from everything that Keiji has learned to expect, that calming the rising panic is as simple as squeezing Bokuto’s hand.

.

.

.

That training camp and the others after it somehow go by without a problem.

His accuracy improves dramatically from having to deal with Nekoma’s play style, their two teams fighting for the top spot within their small, unofficial league. Part of that is because Bokuto has been working on his straights as well. Straights require him to toss the ball at a slightly different angle to be at their most effective. But they’re finally working through the last couple kinks in their teamwork. 

Most of the time, all three of them are too tired to do much of anything. But they do whisper to one another in the middle of the night, small affections exchanged within the otherwise silent rooms. It’s better than Keiji ever hoped it would be. Going slow feels safer, allows him to learn how to trust them. 

Keiji smiles when they sheepishly tell him of the kiss they shared. They sound so ashamed that they didn’t know Keiji would come into their lives just a few, short weeks later. It must come as a surprise when he tells them he’s glad they’re so close to one another, but he doesn’t regret it, not even for a second. 

The team is the only thing off in his life. They treat him just like they always have; it’s the same way they treat everyone on the team. But the fact that none of them have mentioned his relationship with Kuroo and Bokuto puts him on edge. No one could have missed the amount of time the three of them spend together, and Bokuto has never hid his Marks. They have to know. 

A rational voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s being stupid, that he’s never heard them talk poorly about people with nonstandard Marks. And even if that isn’t the same as being accepting, he has Bokuto with him. Things will never be as bad as they were in junior high. 

“You think about things like that?” Bokuto asks, through a mouthful of popcorn. 

“I have to.” 

Kuroo snorts from his other side, where he’s stretched out on the living room couch. Their movie plays in the background, various explosions and shouts muted as they talk. 

“Dude,” Bokuto whines, “not cool.” 

Keiji lets the corners of his mouth lift. “It’s stranger that you don’t think about things like that, Bo.” 

“Actually,” Kuroo says, “that was directed at both of you. Things with your team will be just fine, Akaashi, so long as you have Bo there to pull you out of your head and remind you that the real world still exists.” 

Bokuto shakes his head and moves the bowl back onto the living room table. “Nah, it’s you who reminds us about the real world, bro. Like, I can’t even remember my keys most of the time, but you always think of everything.” 

“I’m touched.” 

“Almost.” 

Keiji opens his mouth to ask before he sees the wide grin spread across Bokuto’s face. His question is quickly answered anyways when Bokuto leans over him to touch Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Now you’re touched,” Bokuto announces, proudly.

“You’re right, I’ve been touched. It’s such an honour. I will truly treasure this moment for the rest of my life.” 

“Kuroo.” 

“Bo.” 

“I’m touched.” 

Keiji sighs, before things can escalate further. “I wish I had known how dorky both of you are sooner.” 

Bokuto offers a loud noise of protest, even as Kuroo smirks, more than a little proud of himself. The only thing left to do now is grab the remote and unmute the television. 

Neither of them say a word when Keiji ends up slumping to the side sometime after Bokuto starts the second movie of the night. His head lands on Kuroo’s thigh, the quiet rush of blood echoing through his ear. What does happen is that Bokuto nudges his legs up onto the couch, his hand lingering on Keiji’s calf. They stay like that, none of them willing to move, not even when Bokuto’s mother walks into the room and tells them they need to head to their separate futons for the night.

.

.

.

Spring High starts before Keiji’s even really aware of what’s happening. His second high school tournament is also his first as an official starter, the team falling into an easy rhythm that had been absent before.

Prefectures aren’t easy, not by a long shot. Four teams are slotted to move onto Nationals, but everyone still goes all out in each match. 

It certainly doesn’t stop the fire that sparks in Bokuto once it’s decided that Nekoma is their opponent for the final match. Never before has Keiji’s breath been taken away so easily or so quickly. Off the court might feel different, but he doesn’t think so. Having that energy behind them turns every successful spike, straights and crosses alike, into a stronger driving force to win. It nearly throws him off once or twice with how distracting it is. 

Then Keiji catches sight of Kuroo’s growing smirk, remembers how much those narrow eyes take in, and pulls himself back together. 

With Bokuto like this, winning the match is almost inevitable. 

And they do. 

They win, and Keiji turns towards Bokuto, a wide smile already on his face. 

Bokuto hugs him. 

The contact is immediate, thick arms beneath his own and a grin buried into his chest as Bokuto hoists him up into the air with a shout. Keiji is immediately lost in the sensation, relaxing into the hug and his own laughter mixing with Bokuto’s. 

“C’mon, you guys, share some of that love!” Konoha shouts, pulling him back to reality. 

“Yeah, this was a team effort!” 

Bokuto squeezes Keiji one last time before easily lowering him to the ground and sweeping the other two into a big hug. Their complaints are drowned out with loud laughter, but more surprising is that a couple upperclassmen pull Keiji into their own hugs, hands slapping his back as the reserves pile in from the sidelines.

Everything after that moment fades into a haze as the local news crew surrounds them. Bokuto is his saving grace throughout it all, a permanent, beaming fixture at his side when the reporter tries to ask what being a first year starter at Fukurodani is like.

Not being cornered by Kuroo afterwards comes as a surprise though. 

Bokuto snorts when Keiji mentions it after they board the bus back to Fukurodani. “That’s because of Kenma.” 

“I didn’t think Kenma would care,” Keiji says, frowning. 

“He doesn’t.” 

“Then?” 

“Well, I guess it’s only partially Kenma? I mean, Kuroo got into a lot of trouble last year, because he never got on the bus to Nekoma. But Kuroo probably doesn’t want to leave Kenma alone on the bus, you know?” 

The realization slowly sinks in. Kuroo has done everything he can to avoid talking about the problems Nekoma has been having this past year. Keiji forgets just how awkward things have been with their upperclassmen more often than not. 

Bokuto yawns. “They’re really great friends, aren’t they?” 

“I think so.” 

“I’m glad he has someone at Nekoma to worry about now. Don’t let him fool you, he really likes to worry about people,” he says, his words growing quieter and quieter until they’re nothing more than a mumble. 

“I know he does, Bokuto.” 

“Good.” 

Keiji smiles as Bokuto finally lets his eyes close, his features quickly smoothing out. The exhaustion from the tournament is quickly starting to set infor him as well, but no one jumped around the court with quite the same intensity as Bokuto had. 

His phone vibrates just before Keiji lets the pull of sleep drag him under. It takes a moment for him to fish it out of his bag, but doing so is worth it. 

_Kenma_ 3m ago  
_tetsurou would probably throw a match_  
_if he got to see the look on your face when koutarou huggen yu again_  
_*hugged_  
_*you_  
_I WOULD NOT_  
_AKAASHI_  
_DONT LISTEN_  
_KENMA IS A LIAR_  
_tho that was really adorable tbh_

Keiji stares at the screen, unable to stop the slow smile that overtakes him. One of them will notice he’s seen it sooner or later, but he still can’t bring himself to type out a response. There are too many things he could say, and none of them are quite capable of showing what he really means. With any hope, Kenma will understand. 

Winter holidays land between Prefectures and Nationals, a welcome break from their recent intense training. Bokuto gets invited to some training camp in the city and accepts immediately, practically vibrating when he video-calls Keiji and Kuroo that night to tell them. That doesn’t take away from their Christmas though, not in the slightest.

Nothing could take away from meeting up in Tokyo and walking through the streets together, stopping only to get hot chocolate and something to eat. Extravagant certainly isn’t the word to describe their Christmas, but being together is far more important to Keiji. They don’t hold hands and their Marks stay hidden beneath layers of clothes, though the knowledge of what they are to each other thrums beneath his skin all afternoon. 

Hardly a week of classes goes by before they’re shipped off to Nationals, giving them just enough time to get accustomed to the rhythm of thing and nothing more. Not that Spring High Nationals is too different from Inter High Nationals. Now, Keiji just gets to hear both Bokuto and Kuroo complain that they don’t get to take the bullet train to get there.

Fukurodani starts off almost literally on fire. All of them are at the top of their games, with Bokuto leading them through victory after victory. Bokuto learning how to spike straights works better than Keiji could have ever imagined. It lends them an edge of unpredictability to the point where Bokuto nearly outshines their upperclassmen, up to and including their ace. 

Then, five matches in, they’re up against Nohebi Academy who technically got into the tournament by the skin of their teeth. 

By the time Nohebi scores the first point, Keiji knows the match will be difficult. He can already feel Bokuto’s frustration behind him, knows that the spike that scored had been on the line. In this, Bokuto’s need for fairness is a weakness. 

No, it isn’t quite a weakness, because that implies Keiji doesn’t deeply admire that part of Bokuto. But his admiration won’t make this match any easier on them. It might have been manageable if the upperclassmen were better at taking Bokuto’s complexities in stride, but that’s far from the truth. 

They lose the first set. 

Anxiety rolls off of Bokuto in waves, his mind clearly going a mile a minute as he takes in everything Yamaji says without a word of his own. Their team members are exchanging quick glances by the end of the pep talk. Bokuto is normally incapable of holding himself back from adding in his own two cents. 

“Bokuto,” Keiji finds himself saying, before he registers it himself. 

Bokuto’s head shoots up and he stares with wide eyes. 

“If we win, I’ll kiss you.”

One of their teammates makes a strangled noise, almost certainly Washio, but Keiji stays focused on Bokuto. He needs to know if he can use this strategy again in the future. He needs to know that this is something Bokuto wants. 

A long moment goes by. 

Then Bokuto whimpers and ducks his head once more, hands reaching up to clutch his hair. “Akaashi!” 

Keiji reaches over to place a hand on his shoulder. “Keep in mind that Kuroo and I have never kissed. It would be my first.” 

The hands fall from Bokuto’s head and they have all of a second before their break is called to an end. Bokuto spends that second staring at him with wide eyes, his cheeks slowly reddening. In Keiji’s books, it is as close to a win as he could possibly get. 

Bokuto’s excitement lasts throughout the entire second set, but they still lose in the third set. The way Nohebi manipulates the referees is more than enough to keep Fukurodani on edge, each close call moving the game in Nohebi’s favour. It places them seventh in the tournament, so close but so far to winning the tournament in its entirety. His hands clench as he stands in the middle of the court, unwilling to leave quite so soon. 

Bokuto is the one who lingers beside him for the longest, their arms brushing until Keiji touches his elbow. Then everything breaks apart as Keiji finds himself with an armful of Bokuto. A forehead rests against his shoulder, and he feels each laboured breath that Bokuto takes. 

“I could have done better,” Bokuto mutters into the side of his neck. “I wanted-” 

“We’re a team.” 

The words don’t sound like his own voice. But it doesn’t sound like when he lied to his junior high team either, thick with regret, or even like he’s quite all there. Bokuto must understand regardless, because his grip on Keiji’s uniform tightens and his shoulders shake. 

“Bokuto.” The resolve in his voice finally shines through. “We will always be a team. If there’s something more you could have done, then there’s something more I could have done as well.” 

“But you were-” 

“And next year, we’ll both be better.” 

Bokuto pulls himself up, a hesitant smile breaking through the red tint to his eyes. Together is what that smile seems to offer Keiji, and it makes leaning forward to close the distance between them an inevitability rather than wiping away some stupid promise. With Bokuto smiling against his lips, together feels alright.

.

.

.

Exams come with the end of Spring High, just as the upperclassmen pass on the club responsibilities. A number of them managed to get sports scholarship from around the country, itching to try their hand at university volleyball.

Keiji spends the afternoon they announce next year’s captaincy, as voted on by the second years, watching Bokuto. Bokuto who outperformed everyone at Spring High, even including the times he faltered. Fukurodani can handle those moments now. Fukurodani is now strong enough for its other members to excel during those moments.

So, Keiji watches Bokuto with butterflies in his stomach as the third years line up in front of the team with a mixture of wide grins and solemn gazes. 

“First things first,” the captain says, and they all fall silent. “Which means vice captaincy, then the captaincy. These decisions shouldn’t be a surprise to any of you, especially not after some of you first years hunted me down during lunch to try and cast your own votes.” 

Keiji pauses to look around at his classmates. He wouldn’t have guessed that any of them would have gone through the effort, which might be unsurprising given how much time he spends with the second years, but that still doesn’t explain it. Decisions like these are always left to the second years. 

The captain steps forward, his gaze seeking Keiji out. “Akaashi, do you accept the role of vice captain?” 

“Ey, ey ey! Akaashi!” 

“Do I need to remind you that you were his biggest advocate, Bokuto?” the captain asks, exasperated. 

Bokuto snickers. “No, I’m good!” 

Only belatedly does Keiji notice that Bokuto’s phone is directed at him. That isn’t enough to break through the haze, but he nods without a moment’s contemplation. He isn’t sure whether he meant to do that or not.

It does have the right effect though. The blinding grin Bokuto directs at him will always convince him that he’s doing the right thing, but everyone else’s reactions are a bonus. A bonus that happens to include plenty of laughter hidden behind hands, but a bonus nonetheless. 

The captain steps forwards and offers his hand. “You weren’t technically supposed to get the position, but everyone voted for you regardless. And your fellow first years were particularly insistent that you take on the vice captaincy.”

“They were?” Keiji asks, absentmindedly grabbing the captain’s hand.

“Everyone knows you’re the best suited for the job.” The captain’s solemn face breaks way into a smirk. “Of course, no one else is actually capable of handling your new ace and captain, so that certainly helps.” 

“Bokuto, then?” 

“Who else?” 

Keiji looks back over at Bokuto just in time to see his jaw go slack in amazement. 

The phone fumbles through Bokuto’s fingers just as he runs forwards, closing the distance between them. Happy whooping fills his ears as Bokuto lifts him into the air and spins him around, his joy bubbling up and out. 

“We have to hold a captaincy party,” Kuroo says, when they phone him after practice. His own captaincy was announced just the week before. “There might only be three or four of us there, but exclusive parties are always the best parties.” 

All of them get caught up with exams before any parties can take place. Bokuto is perhaps in the worst shape, Keiji’s stomach dropping out when he abruptly remembers that he needs to study in their last practice of the school year. 

Keiji ends up helping more than he should. Recruiting the other second years is one thing, but actually learning some of the material to teach it to Bokuto in a way he’ll understand is something else entirely. He is in the advanced class though, which is excuse enough. And Bokuto needs to stay on the volleyball team, for all of their sakes. 

Seeing their passing marks is far more of a relief, in the end. 

Second year starts with slowly falling back into the routine of class and practice. There is still a couple months before Inter High and their first year libero needs to get up to par. Acting as vice captain is like falling into an old, familiar role, despite the new pride Keiji carries when other setters come to him for advice on their technique. It means more to him than he ever expected it would. 

Kuroo tells them about Karasuno in Miyagi sooner rather than later. He plays it off at first, just a passing interest in another district, even though Shiratorizawa has been the only Miyagi representative for years. Maybe Kuroo fools Bokuto at first, but Keiji can hear the extra kick in his words when he brings them up. That kick only grows as the practice match between Nekoma and Karasuno draws closer. 

“Kuroo won’t be too disappointed when they suck, right?” Bokuto murmurs, half asleep on Keiji’s bed. 

Keiji looks up from his notes. 

Bokuto has his own notes covering the entirety of the bed. Or rather, is laying on top of the notes covering the bed. 

“I thought you wanted to study?” he asks, his voice steady.

Bokuto rolls onto his side, the papers crinkling beneath him. “Studying is boring. How do you do this all the time?”

“We can take a break for a while.” 

“I just never want to study ever again.” Bokuto pauses when Keiji doesn’t react, then adds, “I guess we can take a break though.” 

Keiji nods and closes his books, a seed of warmth growing in his chest as Bokuto pushes himself upwards and grins. They managed to study for nearly an entire hour, though Keiji doubts how much of that Bokuto actually spent studying. Things found in books just don’t hold his interest for long. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, drawing out his name.

Keiji hides a small smile. “Yes?”

“Why are you all the way over there? You don’t need to sit at your desk if we’re taking a break.” 

“Where else can I sit?” 

Bokuto looks around, only barely remembering the crumpled notes around him. But Keiji’s phone starts to ring just as he begins stuffing all the loose pages into his backpack. Kuroo’s picture flashes across the screen, alongside the name “Tetsu-senpai <3”. 

“Did you change Kuroo’s contact in my phone?” he asks, lightly. 

Bokuto freezes, his arm half in his bag. “No?” 

“Bo.” 

“Kuroo… might have bribed me in kisses to change it for him?” 

Keiji sighs, ignoring the fond note, and answers the call. “Hello?” 

“I think I met our fourth,” Kuroo says, his voice filling the room.


	7. ii: Kuroo Tetsurou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful response! I hope you enjoy <3

Tetsurou stops to catch his breath, his hands resting on his thighs in one last desperate attempt to keep himself standing. He always knew that going up against Fukurodani would be difficult, but of course they chose today of all days to be at the top of their game. This is what a hundred and twenty percent of a team’s ability looks like. 

Even if Nekoma had been having such a great day, he doesn’t know if they would be able to beat this Fukurodani. Bokuto and Akaashi manage to steer them in the right direction so effortlessly, without so much as a word exchanged between anyone on the court. It really only makes sense that they lost. But that doesn’t stop the sting of it from making him grimace at the ground, his hands clenching in the thin fabric of his shorts.

A shout makes him look up abruptly, and all thoughts about winning and losing leave him. 

Sometime in the last five seconds, Bokuto had run over to hug Akaashi. Only that isn’t so much a hug as it is some sort of tackle, what with the way he hoists Akaashi up into the air. 

Tetsurou didn’t even know Bokuto was strong enough to do that. He should have, in retrospect, as there is nothing quite as appealing as the thick muscles of Bokuto’s arms and shoulders, capable of drawing Tetsurou’s attention regardless of the situation. 

Laughter spills out of Akaashi and his mouth goes dry. The sound in itself would be more than enough to capture his attention. Not because Tetsurou has never heard Akaashi laugh before, because he has. A couple times. And nowhere as captivating as this, bright and thrilled, and never with a grin that wide. It’s taking everything in Tetsurou’s power not to go over there right now and join them, even if this isn’t his win. 

As usual, these two have him so far gone that no one would manage to pull him out of his feelings for them. Getting to this point should feel inevitable. 

Instead, Tetsurou just feels desperate to be beside them. 

“C’mon, you guys, share some of that love!” Konoha shouts on the other side of the court, and Tetsurou finally forces himself to look away. 

And right at Kenma conveniently staring at him, a knowing look in his eyes. 

“No,” Tetsurou snaps, before Kenma can say anything either way. 

Kenma hums and starts for the back line with the rest of the team, leaving Tetsurou to sort through his feelings himself. That part isn’t even slightly a surprise, for all that Tetsurou rolls his eyes and mentally calls Kenma a traitor. Sticky, messy feelings have never interested Kenma, not even in the form of Tetsurou complaining about them. 

But that image is still imprinted into his mind nearly an hour later as they board the bus. Bokuto and Akaashi touching each other so freely, so close, so capable of drawing Tetsurou in without so much as a word. 

His head drops to the back of the bus seat, and he glances over at Kenma beside him. Tetsurou pauses for a moment, because it’s odd to find Kenma texting on his phone instead of playing some handheld game. Then his gaze flickers down to the screen itself and he freezes. 

_tetsurou would probably throw a match_

There’s no need to guess who that message is being sent to.

Not that Tetsurou takes the time to think about it at all. That would get in the way of lunging for the phone before Kenma can do any more damage to his reputation. 

Kenma easily moves his phone out of the way, scowling down at it as he accidentally presses the send button. “I wasn’t finished.” 

“I don’t care!” Tetsurou hisses. 

“Should I?” 

Tetsurou huffs and reaches for the phone again, because he can see Kenma trying to finish off his original message. This time around, he manages to get a hand on it. 

Not that it does much good, because the second message has already been sent. And Kenma has even managed to fix his spelling mistakes in the last few moments. Kenma is wearing a determined scowl by now, which would normally be more than enough to make Tetsurou give in. 

But not this time around. 

The phone goes back and forth between the two of them for nearly an entire thirty seconds, neither of them willing to let it go so easily. Tetsurou grits his teeth and pulls a bit harder. It’s easy to forget just how much strength Kenma has in those arms of his, given how little he likes to use that strength. 

Then Kenma lets go of the phone entirely, sending Tetsurou falling to the ground without the tension keeping him in place. Yamamoto snorts from the seat behind them, and Tetsurou glowers at him before he pushes himself back into place. The floor of the bus is grungy, but his own satisfaction most certainly is not. Even if Kenma looks a touch too satisfied as he turns to stare back out the window. 

Tetsurou spends the next few minutes hastily retracting the messages Kenma sent to Akaashi, his finger lingering over the screen before he adds one last message. 

_tho that was really adorable tbh_

.

.

.

Their loss in the final match of Prefectures does nothing to affect them going to Nationals, in all honesty. Pride had been the only thing on the line, right up until Nekoma is subjected to a lecture with extra notes on Fukurodani a couple days before they’re shipped out to Nationals. Which isn’t so much being shipped out as it is taking the train to the other side of the city.

It certainly doesn’t stop them from doing their best at Nationals, that much is for sure. Except that one of the third years manages to get into a brief argument with Kenma after their regular setter is switched out for a round. Undeserving is the word that gets tossed around, right up until Tetsurou cuts in with a careful smile on his face. 

From there, the situation dies down within a couple minutes, but Tetsurou can see where things would be headed if the third years weren’t graduating soon. It’s certainly not anywhere good. The only good things about the third years is that they’re leaving, and that they’ve made it easier for the first and second years to bond together. All Tetsurou has to do most days to start a decent conversation with anyone on the team is start complaining about them. 

His mind isn’t even on the captaincy when they get called into the gymnasium a few weeks after Nationals and are asked to vote on next year’s captain. 

His mind isn’t on much of anything other than beating out Yaku’s score on their chemistry final in a couple weeks. 

That’s probably why everything grinds to a stop when he’s announced as captain. 

The other first and second years congratulate him, acting like everything is normal, like this was the expected turn of events. Yaku kicks his shin with his own congratulations, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Tetsurou can’t particularly blame him when he’s not capable of coherent thought in that moment. It takes everything he has to follow Kenma home not an hour later. 

“Hey,” Kenma says, breaking the silence between them. 

Tetsurou glances over with a frown, then blinks when he notices the phone held out to him. “What?” 

“You weren’t planning on telling them?” 

There’s no question as to who they are. 

Tetsurou almost asks what he’d be telling them, though, before the pieces click together. Then he quickly takes the phone and holds it up to his ear, immediately forced into holding back a laugh at Bokuto. 

“Kenma,” Bokuto repeats, drawing out the name. “At least say something when you phone me!” 

“Hey, Bo.” 

Tetsurou can almost see the wide grin spread across Bokuto’s face. “Hey, hey, hey! What brings your lovely voice to my ear this afternoon?” 

“Lovely?” Tetsurou grins to himself, purposely ignoring the huff Kenma lets out beside him. “Flatter me some more, would you?” 

“Well-” Bokuto cuts himself off with an almost audible pout. “Apparently Akaashi wants me to ask why you’re phoning first. Then I can flatter you all I want. At least, as soon as I get back home. We’re kind of on the train right now.” 

“Ah, I’m Nekoma’s captain now?” 

There’s a brief beat of silence before all Tetsurou can hear is Bokuto’s excited cheering, followed by a frantic explanation to what must be Akaashi. 

The grin on his face is beginning to hurt his cheeks with how strong it is. It’s not as if the conversation itself lasts for much longer after both Bokuto and Akaashi congratulate him. According to Bokuto, there are too many people staring at them, but the promise to talk more about it later is enough to keep Tetsurou going for a long while now. 

His gaze flickers over to Kenma after a few minutes, and a rush of confidence goes through him. “Next year is going to be different, you know. Nekoma is going to be the team that it always should have been.” 

“I already knew that,” Kenma mutters, looking away from him.

.

.

.

The second good thing to happen after Nationals isn’t until his second year has the opportunity to start. It’s really nothing more than a rumour at first. Tetsurou wouldn’t know anything about it if someone from Aoba Jousai in Miyagi didn’t mention playing Karasuno and losing.

That much is enough to make him sit up and take notice. Perhaps Tetsurou is a bit hasty in bringing the newly-found information to Nekomata, but the coach just laughs and says he’ll make a couple calls himself. Or answer a call, but Tetsurou has to have been mistaken about that. It doesn’t matter how shitty Karasuno is. He’s wanted the Match at the Garbage Dump ever since his parents mentioned it to him when he was a kid. It’s part of the whole reason why he came to Nekoma, instead of some other high school. 

And if this is right, then Tetsurou might just have the opportunity to lead Nekoma into the Match at the Garbage Dump himself. 

Containing himself until Nekomata sets up the match is difficult. Tetsurou is fairly certain that he let his enthusiasm slip a bit too much as soon as he mentions it to Akaashi the first time. And by the fourth or fifth time he accidentally references it makes Bokuto break out into tiny snickers, despite his obvious attempts to stop himself. He can’t even bring himself to feel too bad about it by the time they set off for Miyagi. 

Only it’s no Match at the Garbage Dump that meets him there. Nekomata set up a couple other practice matches in the area first, but that isn’t even the part that makes Tetsurou pause. 

That honour belongs solely to one first year by the name of Tsukishima Kei. 

At first, it’s nothing more than something about the guy that draws Tetsurou’s eye. The same could be said of almost everyone on the Karasuno team, given their wide range of skills and personalities. Kenma seems drawn into Hinata’s blinding enthusiasm almost immediately, which Tetsurou would be more interested in examining at any other point in time. 

Then Tsukishima turns around to walk off the court and Tetsurou finds an almost eye-like shape staring at him from the back of his knee, just above his kneepad. Resisting the careful glance at his own Marks is impossible. Which is for the better, when his stomach drops out at the sight of his third Mark extending out further than it ever has before. 

It haunts him for the rest of the match. 

And each round after the first one. 

His third soulmate is standing on the other side of the court, entirely oblivious to both him and their newly changed Marks. That is likely what makes Tetsurou act the way he does, pulling down Tsukishima’s kneepad like it’s absolutely nothing. But he has to make sure that there are two more Marks waiting for him there. 

There are. Tetsurou catches a glimpse of two tiny Marks, just subtle enough that someone else might mistake them for freckles. Then Tsukishima stumbles forwards and everything goes south from there. 

South is an understatement. Tetsurou is still reeling as he boards the bus, his heart pounding against his rib cage so quickly that it’s almost concerning. He can hardly remember a word he said to Tsukishima, nothing other than his wide eyes and the sentiment that he didn’t have any soulmates. Like Kenma, except that Tetsurou knows that Tsukishima has three soulmates, just waiting for him. 

Karasuno’s bus backs out before Nekoma’s. Just the slightest glimpse of blond hair sends him spiraling again, and his finger still hadn’t stopped shaking from the first time around. But that glimpse is gone just as soon as it appears, the other bus pulling out onto the street without thought to Tetsurou’s personal distress.

Kenma sits next to him before anyone else can. Which is a good thing, because Tetsurou lets his head fall to the seat in front of him and he lacks the capability to pull himself back up. He should phone Bokuto and Akaashi. They deserve to know about Tsukishima. They deserve to know long before he goes over to Akaashi’s in a couple weeks and they notice his Mark is different. 

The rest of the team is oddly silent once they finally start driving. 

It shouldn’t be on his mind right now, when focusing on the unsteady in an out of his own breathing is a difficulty. But there it is, anyways.

Meeting Tsukishima was nothing like meeting Bokuto.

Even meeting Akaashi went better, despite it nearly going nuclear. 

Tetsurou lets out a breathy laugh. Momentary confidence really went far with Tsukishima, given how much of a show that had been. But then again, one of his soulmates lives all the way out in Miyagi, where he’s a half-decent middle blocker and radiates enough sass to make Tetsurou appreciate it. And Tsukishima only just learned about their connection this afternoon. Trust him to step right into some deep issues, rather than slowly ease himself into it.

Slow and steady has never suited him though. Akaashi would have been a better fit, if they could have chosen who met Tsukishima first.

“You still don’t know what’s going to happen,” Kenma points out, his cool tone immediately putting Tetsurou on edge. 

“Don’t I?” Tetsurou nearly recoils at the anger seeped into his own voice, but he can’t turn back now. “I already screwed it up.” 

“Some people need time to think things through.” 

“People like you?” 

Kenma sighs, all of his exasperation shoved into that one breath. “You already know the answer to that.” 

Tetsurou pauses for a beat, then finally pulls his head back up. He does know the answer to that. Him and Kenma have talked about these things before, things like Kenma coming to terms with not having a soulmate and how Tetsurou’s preferred method of trying to fix everything immediately doesn’t always work. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what point Kenma is making in regards to Tsukishima.

Life isn’t so simple that he can just expect Tsukishima to accept the three of them. Kenma would probably make some analogy about him being in the grinding stage on an RPG. Advancing to the boss battle would only end terribly, so only leveling up and finding stronger weapons will help him in the meantime.

A snort escapes from him, just in time for Kenma to narrow his eyes at him. Tetsurou waves him off and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. 

There’s already a handful of messages waiting there for him. The most recent is a text from Sawamura, questioning what happened between him and Tsukishima. That one is easy to ignore, given that it’s none of Sawamura’s business. 

The six or seven messages from Bokuto are harder to ignore. 

They’re mostly plans to video call each other once Tetsurou gets home, followed by a picture of Bokuto on Akaashi’s bed and a comment about him staying over for dinner. Tetsurou slowly scrolls from top to bottom before his fingers linger over the keyboard. Bokuto was so excited after he met Akaashi, even if he got a bit freaked out for a while. 

And all of that had happened when Akaashi was completely willing to have a proper relationship with them. 

But it’s better to tell him. Tetsurou has to tell Akaashi, at the very least. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he tried, not when Akaashi is likely the most capable of smoothing things over in this situation. Maybe it’s a stroke of luck that Bokuto just happens to be there right now. 

Tetsurou switches over to Akaashi’s contact and presses the call button, holding the phone up to his ear. Kenma is watching him from the corner of his eye, but he carefully doesn’t look over. 

“Hello?” comes Akaashi’s voice, after a handful of rings. 

He takes in a deep breath. “I think I met our fourth.”

.

.

.

Tetsurou just barely manages to get out of practice to make his way over to Fukurodani a week later. It turns out that skipping is heavily encouraged when he’s the captain. Especially when even Yaku wouldn’t be able to stop Lev from skipping himself if he knows Tetsurou did. And then Lev won’t be able to compete at all this year, given how shitty his receives are.

But that does make him a bit later than usual as he lightly jogs up to their little cafe. Most of the afternoon rush seems to have already come and gone, the place far emptier than he’s used to seeing it.

He doesn’t linger by the entrance, instead nodding at a waitress as he bee-lines for one of the booths in the back. They’ve all seen him in here enough times these past couple years to recognize him, and she smiles back at him, just like he expected. Akaashi and Bokuto also smile at the sight of him, both of them managing to take his breath away, just like always.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Tetsurou says, letting the words roll off his tongue, “come here often?” 

Akaashi snorts, far more fond than he means it to be. “That would be more convincing if you weren’t out of breath, Kuroo.” 

“I’m not out of breath.” He offers his own grin as he sits down across from them. “And even if I were, that doesn’t take away from you being gorgeous. Two completely separate issues.” 

“Is it?” Bokuto jumps in, grinning.

“Well, now that you ask, I don’t think it is.” 

“Akaashi is pretty enough to make it look like you ran from the train station, isn’t he?” 

“Hey, I don’t think I specified which one of you managed to take my breath away. Both of you just happen to be stunning.” 

“Bro.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes at the both of them and wordlessly pushes the slice of cake into the middle before they can continue. Tetsurou doesn’t have to check to know it’s Bokuto’s favourite, rather than Akaashi’s own. It’s what they get every time they come here, regardless of whether Bokuto is with them or not.

It all but melts on his tongue as he takes a careful bite. The flavour is a bit too sweet for his liking, but everything they serve here is delicious. The three of them wouldn’t keep coming here if it weren’t. 

“Yamaji invited Karasuno to our group practice matches.” 

Tetsurou pauses and slowly pulls the fork from his mouth, setting on the edge of the plate. “Yamaji did what?” 

“It was my fault,” Bokuto says, quickly. “I, uh, may have mentioned your practice match to him? And then maybe Yamaji and Nekomata talked about it or something, but then Yamaji told us after practice today and it’s too late to pull out. Not that I explained why we should, but-” 

“But Yamaji doesn’t need to know about us having a soulmate on Karasuno’s team,” Akaashi cuts in, before Bokuto can work himself up into more of a fluster. 

Tetsurou considers it for a moment, then shrugs. “Eh, he probably knows.”

“Probably,” Bokuto says, nodding. 

Akaashi sighs. “Why would he know?” 

“Well, Nekomata knows, right? Because he was there at the practice match with Karasuno.” Tetsurou waits for the silent confirmation, then continues. “And we already know that Nekomata and Yamaji are drinking buddies. I’d bet anything that they gossip about all of us while they drink.” 

Bokuto hums and takes a quick bite of the cake, sitting up a bit straighter at the taste. “I wonder what they say about us. Like, is it all ‘oh ho ho, Bokuto is so much stronger than Kuroo,’ or what?” 

“First, fuck you, Bo. That isn’t a fair comparison and you know it. Second, it’s probably just the usual stuff. Like, ‘your team is going to lose at Prefectures this year,’ and ‘well, I don’t know about that. Your captain will be pretty distracted when he breaks up with that new girlfriend of his,’” Tetsurou says, easily.

“Do we really need to hear you complain about Shinsou more?” Akaashi interjects.

“Not in a million years. The guy is a dick.” 

“Nothing is going to change that.” 

“Sure, but I can still take a bit of personal enjoyment out of it, don’t you think? Especially with the shit he pulls.” Akaashi sighs, not making a move to agree or disagree. Tetsurou smirks at him, his point proven. “Besides, none of us came here today to talk about Shinsou.” 

The energy deflates out of the conversation, just like that. Neither Akaashi or Bokuto will quite meet his eyes, and that tells Tetsurou everything he needs to know. 

Or at least, enough to piece together that the two of them have already talked about what they should do about Tsukishima. If they should do anything about Tsukishima. Attempting to talk about it over video call the other night hadn’t worked, not in the slightest. But they would have had more than enough opportunities to talk about it just the two of them. 

This time last year, it was a question of whether either of them would reach out to the other. Tetsurou should be relieved that they’ve gotten to this point now. 

“I… think Tsukishima needs to figure it out for himself,” Bokuto says, his gaze flickering over to Akaashi. 

Akaashi frowns. “He might just need a nudge in the right direction-” 

“We’re not forcing our soulmate into a relationship with us!” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“It is! Sometimes things are really scary, and I know I wouldn’t have talked to you if you didn’t force me into it, but he deserves time to wrap his head around this whole thing,” Bokuto blurts out. 

Tetsurou lets out a low breath and reaches across the table to place his hand over Bokuto’s. It takes a long moment for Bokuto to calm down, even with the contact, but he slowly does, his shoulders slumping. Then he shifts his hand to intertwine their fingers together, his gaze not lifting up from the table for the briefest moment. 

“No one is saying that we’re going to force Tsukishima to talk to us, alright?” Tetsurou tells him, glancing over at Akaashi for approval. “Maybe we can give him the opportunity to talk if he wants to, though. Like, remind him that we’re here and all that.” 

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” Akaashi agrees, even more quietly than usual.

.

.

.

Inter High comes and goes without much of a problem. Technically, this is the first tournament with him and Bokuto as captains and Akaashi as vice captain, but it feels like they’ve been doing this for much longer. But that might just be because Tetsurou spent most of last year organizing his year and Kenma’s.

Nekoma is still kicked out in the third round of Nationals, despite the good energy their practice match with Karasuno sparked. A rival, particularly one with a certain amount of shared history, does a lot for morale, as it turns out. Even if Tetsurou messed with that good energy when he confronted Tsukishima in front of the team. 

At least Kenma forgave his lack of good judgement easily enough.

Yaku, on the other hand, is more than willing to hold a grudge. Tetsurou doesn’t have another explanation for why he’s suddenly in charge of most of Lev’s training or on the receiving end of countless glares or why Yaku is incapable of studying with him. But all he can do is grin and bear it for now.

Anything else and Yaku may very well bite off his head without the slightest hint of regret. It might even be worth it if Tetsurou somehow convinced Kenma to carry on the story of his death at the hands of their libero. Becoming a local legend is always a temptation. 

Not that dying would be worth it in the same way seeing Fukurodani reach the finals at Inter High is worth it. But being the one to convince Bokuto and Akaashi of how close they were to winning trumps almost everything Tetsurou has ever experienced. At least, up until Akaashi leans over to kiss him, sending his thoughts into a scattered mess. And stopping his heart just as effectively. 

Then Tetsurou is laughing against Bokuto’s lips hardly a moment later. It feels so good, like each kiss the three of them exchange is going to light a flame in his chest. 

“We made it to the finals,” Bokuto exhales, more than a touch past awed.

Tetsurou snorts and leans in to kiss him again. “You made it to the finals.” 

“If I remember it correctly, we both made it,” Akaashi says, making Tetsurou switch gears and kiss him a second, then a third time. 

But before he knows it, he’s back to training, now with the added stress of studying for exams that are still months away. Nekoma only allows him to stay on the team because there’s the chance of him getting scouted by a university team, as well as some convincing from him and Yaku.

Nekomata might have something to do with it too, but he’s as tight-lipped as always. 

Time shouldn’t move this quickly, though. Every moment is spent training or studying, the few free hours Tetsurou has left spent with Bokuto and Akaashi. Yet, sooner rather than later, Karasuno receives an invitation to join their summer training camps. Then the month before those practice matches start slip through his fingers.

“Which one is he?” Bokuto whispers, as they watch people file out of Karasuno’s bus.

“Bokuto.” 

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. Spotting Tsukishima would be easy, even if he weren’t their soulmate. “You don’t know?” 

“I didn’t look at the pictures you sent,” Bokuto answers.

“Don’t talk about those in public, would you? Because the chibi didn’t send them to Kenma, and Kenma most certainly did not forward them on to me.” 

Bokuto frowns, briefly pulling his attention away from the bus. “But Kenma did send you-” 

“Tsukishima is the tall blond one,” Akaashi cuts in. 

Also the one determinedly not looking in their direction, Tetsurou notes, but there are only so many battles he can win. They have an entire summer of opportunities to talk to Tsukishima. 

Bokuto’s breath catches when he spots Tsukishima for himself. 

That moment of consideration makes Tetsurou pause and look away from Tsukishima for the first time since he arrived. Bokuto’s eyes are narrowed in concentration, suspiciously similar to the look he always wears before attempting some ridiculous move on the court. A glance in Akaashi’s direction reveals that same careful consideration, and Tetsurou can’t hold back his smile any longer. This is exactly what he should have expected from them. 

“He’s going to be taller than us.” 

Tetsurou chokes on the laughter that immediately struggles to break free from his lungs. 

“He is!” Bokuto insists, unwavering. “I only had my last growth spurt four or five months ago. And he looks like he’s already as tall as I am, at least.” 

“He’s certainly taller than me,” Akaashi adds in. 

These two are going to kill him.

Bokuto and Akaashi will be the death of him, and Tetsurou won’t even mind, if it’s them. 

“Maybe not the most important detail right now,” Tetsurou points out, fondly. 

Akaashi hums, considering it. “Does there have to be an important detail right now? If we’re doing this Bokuto’s way, then we’re just keeping our distance.” 

“He’s also going to be hotter than us.” 

“Are you suggesting that someone could be hotter than Akaashi?”

The colour drains from Bokuto’s face before he all but throws himself at Akaashi. But what really makes Tetsurou crack is the desperate apologies, as if either of them would be offended by that statement. It doesn’t take long before he’s bent over and clutching his gut, blinking away the tears in the corners of his eyes. Then Bokuto pouts at him and the laughter starts all over again, his lungs burning.

When Tetsurou finally looks up, he finds Tsukishima staring at them. The eye contact only lasts for a moment, but that moment is more than enough hope for Tetsurou.

.

.

.

Not approaching Tsukishima himself is difficult. All three of them manage to make it through the first training camp without much trouble, but that’s almost entirely due to how short it was.

By the second day of the second training camp, even Bokuto is almost bursting with the desire to go over and strike up a conversation. He stays firm on his point that they shouldn’t though, all the while glancing anxiously at the other court. Maybe they should have expected just how bad they would be at this. Tetsurou certainly didn’t. And yet, as soon as the camp begins, the matches themselves become a reprieve, the one place where he can shove all other thoughts out of his head. 

Even training Lev isn’t going so well. It would be fine if Lev weren’t quite so adept at noticing when Tetsurou’s attention has waned, then taking that as an excuse for a break. 

Tetsurou stares blankly at the collapsed figure on the other side of the court. They have only been in the Third Gym for half an hour, if that. Lev has no excuse for being so exhausted already, not if he actually wants to continue on with volleyball. 

“Oh ho ho?” comes Bokuto’s voice, breaking through his exasperation. 

He glances over, a grin slowly spreading across his face at the sight of Tsukishima standing in the doorway. “Oho ho ho.” 

The atmosphere in the gym immediately changes as their exchange grabs the attention of its other two occupants. Lev mostly just looks confused, but if Tetsurou had to guess, he would say a weight just lifted off of Akaashi’s shoulders. This is what the four of them have been waiting for. 

“What are you doing in here?” Tsukishima asks them, cautiously. 

Tetsurou takes a good, long look around the gym, unable to stop himself. Other than Bokuto all but vibrating on the other court, nothing seems to have changed in the last few minutes. “If I had to guess, I’d say we were training.” 

“But-” 

Tetsurou immediately recognizes the confused twist of Tsukishima’s mouth. “Did you think we’d be doing something illicit, Tsukki?” It turns into a scowl at those words, but he can’t quite make himself stop. “Sorry to disappoint, but even we have to practice.” 

Bokuto nods, enthusiastically. “If we don’t practice together, than Nekoma won’t be able to drag Kuroo off the court when Fukurodani inevitably wins.” 

“Inevitably?” 

“Last I checked, we were ranked higher than Nekoma.” 

“And the last time I checked, Nekoma and Fukurodani have been tied in their practice matches so far,” Tetsurou fires back, his attention focused in on Bokuto. 

“As if your new kitten will be ready to play at Nationals!” He scowls, entirely because Lev is still a mess, whether he likes it or not. “And I’m going to go up in the rankings too, of course.” 

“And what? Do you plan on staying in high school for another year, Bo?” 

“We still have this year to get through before either of you are allowed to start talking about next year,” Akaashi cuts in before the situation can escalate further. 

His tone is what makes Tetsurou freeze, rather than the words themselves. Tsukishima wouldn’t notice the edge in Akaashi’s words, far too similar to the odd intensity Akaashi gets before a match. Bokuto has to deal with it more often than not, but he’s normally so caught up in his pre-match process that he doesn’t notice. 

Still, Tsukishima looks to be about two seconds from fleeing from the gym and never coming back. It turns Tetsurou’s stomach into a nervous, fluttering wreck, more than capable of screwing this up for all of them. Sticking a grin on his face is simple, but he still feels like something stuck in a cage and looking for the best way out, even if he has to cut his own arm off to get there. If he screwed things up with Tsukishima once, he can certainly do it again. 

At least Bokuto and Akaashi are here with him this time. 

“So, you going to join us or not, Tsukki?” Tetsurou forces out.

“Join you?” 

The dubious tone nearly makes him frown. “For practice. Bo wants some practice against blockers, and you would make the perfect addition to our wall.”

Lev manages to push himself up off the floor. “You mean-” 

“Yes, you can take a break from receiving,” Tetsurou says, rolling his eyes. “Just don’t mention it to Yaku, otherwise it will be your own ass on the line.” 

“Right, of course!” 

Tsukishima is still tense as he stands there, but not as much as before. “I still haven’t agreed.”

Tetsurou makes himself move, one foot in front of another, until he’s close enough to throw his arm over Tsukishima. The warmth of his shoulders is a brand against Tetsurou’s skin, but he grins and bears it. The awkwardness is worth enduring for Bokuto’s widening grin, for Akaashi’s nearly silent, relieved sigh. 

It helps that Tsukishima only offers up the mildest of protests. 

They get through a couple rounds without problem. Tsukishima doesn’t say much, but Tetsurou sees his tiny smirk whenever his fingers so much as brush Bokuto’s spikes. Even the advice him and Bokuto give is listened to, if nothing else. And then he starts noticing the distinct lack of enjoyment in the way Tsukishima blocks, like he’d rather be doing anything else.

His first instinct is that something happened to him. People don’t come to every training camp without loving the sport on some level, which means something must be keeping Tsukishima here. But in the end, Tetsurou doesn’t know.

Neither is he in the position to push the subject. All of them are being dumped into the deep end, and even if he has Bokuto and Akaashi to keep him afloat, there’s only so much they can do. Tetsurou doesn’t know what will be too much, what will scare Tsukishima away in the way he knows what will make Bokuto and Akaashi pull away from him. 

“What’s your problem?” 

Tetsurou blinks at the snapped words, immediately sent reeling. “Excuse me?” 

“I want to know what your issue is.” Tsukishima turns towards him, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m here. What else do you want from me?” 

“I…”

Words fail him. 

For once, Tetsurou can’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing that would make this better, nothing that would make this worse. 

“We don’t expect anything from you, Tsukishima,” Bokuto says, quickly filling the silence. “At least, we don’t want anything that you don’t want to give us.” 

“Life isn’t that simple.” 

“It is! We - ah, I guess we don’t technically love you yet, but we really want to. I’ve wanted to meet you almost since I was born.” Tsukishima tenses, his jaw clenched as he stares at all of them and his eyes wide. “But that doesn’t matter if you don’t want to love us too.” 

Tetsurou sees the damage before it starts. “Being soulmates isn’t some sort of-” 

Tsukishima flinches. 

There isn’t an opportunity to fix things, because he turns on his heel and bee-lines for the door within the span of a heartbeat. The bug net almost gets in his way, but he shoves past it anyways and disappears from sight. 

Hurt slams down on Tetsurou the moment he can no longer see Tsukishima. He only belatedly remembers Lev fleeing for the bathroom a few minutes before, the gratefulness slow to appear. There’s no way Lev is just headed to the bathroom, but he doesn’t have the energy to hunt him down again. Or do anything other than standing here hopelessly, desperately wishing for Tsukishima to appear once more. 

“I’m going after him,” Bokuto says, quietly. 

A quiet hope runs through his voice, and Tetsurou doesn’t dare contradict him. Bokuto was doing a better job before he attempted to step in. 

Tetsurou feels the hands cupping his cheeks rather than Akaashi walking up to him. There’s no sign of happiness in Akaashi’s face, but the way his mouth wavers grabs his attention, and Tetsurou leans down so their foreheads are touching. 

He wants to curl up in bed with Akaashi on one side and Bokuto on the other. He wants to forget this entire evening ever happened at all, even including all the time they tentatively spent with Tsukishima. And judging by the way Akaashi stares at him, he isn’t the only one with that urge.

“Bokuto has this covered,” Akaashi offers. 

“Yeah, but-” 

Akaashi sighs. “Are you forgetting that Bokuto is perhaps the best at responding to people’s emotions of the three of us?”

“It did come as a bit of a surprise to me,” Tetsurou says, laughing lightly. 

“Perhaps.” 

There’s a smile hidden on Akaashi’s face now, and some of Tetsurou’s nerves finally fade as he leans in for a brief kiss. The two of them can only wait now. Whether or not Bokuto comes back with Tsukishima, they’ll be here, waiting.

Whatever conversation Bokuto and Tsukishima have makes all the difference. The two of them sit together at breakfast the next day, Bokuto’s booming laughter echoing from one side of the room to the other. 

Tetsurou almost can’t contain the desire to join them. If it weren’t for Kenma sitting across from him and looking unimpressed whenever he so much as glances at them, he probably already would have. Instead, his curiosity just eats away at him, making him twitchy right up until he steps out onto the court. 

The rest of the team must notice something is off right away. That’s the only way to explain how they cover his missed receives for him with only the occasional scowl from Yaku. Compared to their usual practices, Yaku is almost subdued. Tetsurou would almost certainly have started poking and prodding at him until he got some sort of reaction at any other time. 

As it is now, the perfectly set-up spikes are a relief rather than an annoyance. Nekoma lose a couple more rounds than they normally would, but it’s worth it for every time Tetsurou gets to see Karasuno do another lap of flying falls. And judging by the noises Bokuto keeps making, his mistakes could be much worse. 

His body is aching by the time the matches end for the day, but he still heads straight for the Third Gym. It’s Yaku’s turn to take over Lev Duty, at the very least, which takes one weight off his shoulders. All he really wants to do is block some of Bokuto’s spikes and hear the ball smack against the floor. 

“Kuroo!” 

Tetsurou turns, nearly dropping a ball when he spots Tsukishima trailing behind Bokuto and Akaashi. 

“What?” Tsukishima snaps, when the silence turns awkward. 

“Just didn’t think I’d see your ugly mug around here again.” 

A weight lifts off his shoulders at the immediate snark and Tetsurou starts to laugh, loud and relieved.

.

.

.

“Why are you here?”

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. “Can’t a guy complain to his best friend about his soulmates?” 

“No.” Kenma frowns, partially at his game and partially at the way Tetsurou is sprawled across half the bed. “Lev is convinced that you and Morisuke are secretly soulmates.” 

“Wouldn’t the team have noticed that years ago?” 

“He also thinks the team has been hiding it from him.” 

He snorts, smirking up at the ceiling. “Yaku and I could make a good couple.” 

“Ugh.” Kenma’s nose is scrunched up when Tetsurou glances over at him for clarification. “You and Morisuke would be a horrible couple. Even if you weren’t with Keiji and Koutarou.” 

That much is true.

Tetsurou holds back a laugh as he actually tries picturing him and Yaku in a relationship. It would probably last only seconds before both of them got annoyed. Poking at Yaku’s short temper is just far too much fun. And Yaku knows how to give just as good as he gets. One of them would end up calling for help in hiding the other’s body before the week was up. 

“You never know,” Tetsurou says, just to be contrary. “Maybe Yaku and I are just meant to be together.” 

“And Lev and I are meant to be together.” 

His smirk only grows. “See? I knew Yaku and I could improve your relationship with that beast child. If being in a relationship with Yaku is what we have to do to improve team dynamics, I think we can live with it.” 

“No.” 

“C’mon, Lev isn’t that bad.” 

“He is.” 

“Yaku hasn’t actually beat him black and blue yet, so how bad can he be?” 

“That’s only because they have matching Marks.”

Tetsurou starts to choke on thin air and pushes himself up, uncertain if his laughter or his spit is blocking his airway. It was to be a joke, even if Kenma isn’t the type to make jokes like that. Even if Kenma hasn’t glanced away to hide a smile. 

But then the pieces start coming together. Tetsurou thought that Yaku’s insistence on him training Lev these past couple months had to do with the practice match with Karasuno, but that wasn’t it at all. And Yaku must have just been letting him think that was the reason this entire time. 

He falls back onto the bed as he starts laughing in earnest. Just picturing Yaku and his pinched scowl trying not to worry over his own soulmate is hilarious. For that soulmate to be tall, awkward Haiba Lev is just the icing on the cake, sent right to Tetsurou for some good thing he must have done in a past life. 

“This is great,” he forces out as he reaches for his phone. “I need to know what their Marks look like. And what Yaku plans on doing once Lev figures it out.” 

Kenma’s attention is already back on his game. “The same thing he would do to you for annoying him. Hit him until he’s sufficiently distracted.” 

“Well…” 

“Please film it if you decide to tell Lev in front of Morisuke.” 

“You just want to see Lev freak out.” 

“And?” 

“Nothing, nothing.”

.

.

.

“Guys, it’s him!”

Tetsurou nods, settling back to watch the screen. “That’s our Tsukki.” 

“Didn’t he ask you not to call him that?” Akaashi asks. 

“Did he?” 

Akaashi snorts softly, but lets the subject drop as the players from the two teams are introduced. 

There’s a world of difference between them. Shiratorizawa has been Miyagi’s representative for at least the last two years, and it shows in the confident way they address the stands and the TV crews. Had anyone other than Karasuno been up against them, Tetsurou would have bet on Shiratorizawa continuing their streak. But they are up against Karasuno. And Karasuno, awkward glances towards the cameras and all, is just as likely to win this match as the sun is likely to rise tomorrow. 

Truthfully though, Tetsurou stays focused on Tsukishima standing with the rest of his team, taller than all of them and not a small amount of pride in the way he holds himself. This is the day for a good match. He can feel it all the way down in his bones, even though he isn’t the one out on the court. 

If he could keep his eyes off of the screen for more than a couple seconds, he would be playing volleyball right now. Convincing Kenma to join them for a two-on-two match would be next to impossible, but maybe it would work today.

Only Tetsurou has no doubts that Kenma is also focused on this match, despite turning down their invitation to watch it together with an excuse about some game coming out last week. Tetsurou has that release schedule memorized, backwards and forward. No, something about Hinata has successfully managed to capture Kenma’s attention. Something that Tetsurou keeps meaning to ask Kenma about, but also escapes his mind. 

His attention turns back to the game as Shiratorizawa and Karasuno line up. The cameras are focused on Shiratorizawa though, making it difficult to keep track of Tsukishima. 

Akaashi sighs and drops his head onto Tetsurou’s shoulder. “That’s too bad.” 

“Right? Here I was hoping we’d have a nice view of Tsukki’s legs, but instead it’s just Ushijima’s followers,” Tetsurou agrees.

“They’ll change it later, so there’s still a chance.” 

“Tsukki’s legs?” 

Tetsurou glances at Bokuto with a frown. “You haven’t noticed how long they are?” 

“I mean…,” Bokuto trails off, laughing awkwardly. 

“Dude, those are some of the best legs I’ve ever seen.” 

“Then you obviously haven’t seen your own legs, bro. Like, your thighs! Akaashi and I were talking after practice once, and we had a whole conversation about how amazing it would be to die between your thighs.” 

“Bo-” 

“You know, I’m suddenly a lot less comfortable leaving the three of you here alone for the weekend,” comes a teasing voice from the doorway. “My son may just be defiled by the time I come back.”

Tetsurou rolls his eyes, glancing over at his mother. “If you don’t meet tousan for your trip, then both of us will have to deal with his pouting all week.” 

“He would understand if I stayed back to defend your virtue, Tetsu-chan,” she counters.

“Maybe I should come along to make sure _your_ virtue is safe.” 

“Trust me, sweetie, that hasn’t been an issue for a long time. Since long before you were born, even.” 

“If you don’t mind me saying, Kuroo-san, I don’t think you need to worry about us defiling him, so much as the other way around.” 

Tetsurou swivels his head to gape at Akaashi, the sound of his mother’s cackles filling the room from behind him. Akaashi calmly meets his gaze, but that is a definite smirk playing along the corners of his lips, evidence to the betrayal that just occurred. 

The red tint of Bokuto’s cheeks almost makes up for it. Almost, because his mother is still laughing at him from the doorway, like it wasn’t her presumptions that started this entire situation. Then the first whistle blows on the TV and his attention is once more captured, despite the flush quickly travelling down the back of his neck. That his Marks are out on display only adds to how out of his element he feels.

“I’ll leave you boys to your game then,” his mother says, fondly. “Don’t defile them too badly, Tetsurou. I don’t want to be the one who explains exactly where Keiji and Koutarou spent the night.” 

“Just get out of here, you evil woman,” Tetsurou mutters, squeezing his eyes closed. 

Her snickering follows her down the hall and until the front door opens and closes behind her. It leaves Tetsurou acutely aware of Akaashi curled into his side, and Bokuto on Akaashi’s other side.

Then fingers brush against his shoulder and he looks away from the game for just a moment. Sometime in the past few minutes, Bokuto rested his arm along the back of the couch, his cheeks still a marvelous red as he focused on the TV. Akaashi’s fingers intertwining with his own come a moment later, and Tetsurou relaxes once more, lightly squeezing his hand. 

The game continues, and it only takes a few more minutes for Tetsurou to settle into it. Karasuno falls behind near the beginning, but then they jump back, just like that. Or more accurately, Tsukishima blocks a spike that changes the whole pace of the game. The camera doesn’t focus on his face, but Tetsurou can picture his wide smirk from that moment of triumph. 

Nationals is just a matter of time now.

.

.

.

A matter of time is more of an understatement than Tetsurou would like to admit. The holidays between Prefectures and Nationals is always an awkward part of Spring High, but this year is goes by faster than ever.

Likely because most of his time is spent studying and making arrangements for next year, all while comparing his own plans with Bokuto’s. Even Yaku, more of a flustered ball of anger than usual, has been asking him about his plans for next year. Actually, if everything works out the way him and Yaku have planned, they’ll end up at the same university and in only slightly different programs. 

And here Tetsurou was looking forward to not seeing Lev as often as he does now. 

All it will take is doing well in this last tournament for him and Yaku to get a scholarship into their preferred university. Same with Bokuto, though Tetsurou thinks his plan falls more along the lines of doing well on an university volleyball team to impress the national team. Rather, Bokuto intends on doing exactly that.

Nationals itself is far enough away from their homes that bussing to the stadium every day isn’t an option. Nekomata sets up the arrangements with Yamaji though, just like at every tournament, and they end up staying at the same hotel. 

If it weren’t for this being their last high school tournament and the addition of Tsukishima, this would be just like every other tournament him and Bokuto have participated in these last three years. But it isn’t. This makes their last shot at Nationals even better than it would have been. This is their last chance to prove that they’re more than capable of dominating the game, if they want to. The last chance for his Battle at the Garbage Dump with Karasuno, and to knock Fukurodani off their high horse. 

In all honesty, Tetsurou finds ignoring the temptation to ask Sawamura for Tsukishima’s number much more difficult. It nearly consumes him one afternoon, perched up in the stands, watching Tsukishima destroy another team with him blocking. 

“He’s going to destroy us,” Tetsurou breathes out. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“No, Bo, he’s going to tear us to pieces.” 

Bokuto nods.

“And we’re going to like it.” 

“Is this what you were like after you met me?” Akaashi cuts in, even as his own gaze doesn’t move from the court. “Because it would certainly explain a lot.” 

“That was different. We were different.”

Bokuto startles out of his trance. “We were?” 

“Well, we were less corrupted.” 

Akaashi laughs, and Tetsurou spends the rest of the match feeling thoroughly satisfied with himself. 

That night he gets a text from an unknown number. There isn’t much to it, just something about them being outside. His first instinct is to screw with the owner of the number for a bit, but something makes him slip on his shoes instead. 

It’s a good thing too, because Tsukishima is standing outside when he gets there a couple minutes later. His eyes follow Tetsurou, but he doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t turn on his heel and disappear either, like he did so many months ago, when the summer heat was still coming down on them. 

“Good match,” Tsukishima says, carefully. 

Tetsurou swallows. “You too.” 

Neither of them speak for a long moment, Tsukishima looking just about as lost as Tetsurou feels. He thought that Tsukishima would reach out to Bokuto or maybe Akaashi if he reached out to any of them on this trip.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he slowly asks, breaking the silence. “Bo and Akaashi were just about to head over to my room for a while.” 

Tsukishima shakes his head. “Karasuno has a team meeting in…” He checks his phone, his grimace throwing Tetsurou for a loop. “Fifteen minutes. I just wanted to-” 

“Stop by and say hi. I get it, Tsukki. You missed us,” Tetsurou says with just a touch of awe. 

“I was going to say that I wanted Bokuto and Akaashi’s phone numbers, but I think I’ll just leave now instead.” 

“Hey, hey, don’t back down because of my misunderstanding!” 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t.” 

Tetsurou grins at him and uses his brief distraction as an opportunity to snatch his phone away from him. “Because they don’t deserve to suffer from a lack of your presence. So, just let me into this thing and I’ll give you the information you came here for.”


	8. ii: Tsukishima Kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all have had a good holiday! <3

Kei’s hands are shaking. They can’t seem to stop, not even after he shoves them into his pockets before anyone notices. He keeps his head down too, so that he can’t see the rest of the team staring at him, but that damage has already been done. Even if they hadn’t been there, he still knows. 

That is to say absolutely nothing of the asshole on the other bus, already headed back to Tokyo. The asshole who is apparently his soulmate, and not just that, but one of his three soulmates. Like some sort of weird collector’s set, all created to suffocate Kei with their thoughts and feelings until he no longer knows his own existence from theirs. 

Ignoring the team is easier once he sits near the back of the bus, hands shoved into his lap. At least, it’s easier until Yamaguchi sits down next to him. 

Normally, Kei would expect this.

Better that Yamaguchi sit with him than one of the others, because it’s been the two of them against the world since junior high. With Yamaguchi, Kei doesn’t have to pretend to be nice. Their friendship is perfectly fine just the way it is. 

But today is different. Today, Kei can feel the nervous energy radiating off of Yamaguchi. A glance confirms that Yamaguchi is mentally working through several different routes of questions, even though he turns back towards the window as they pull out of the parking lot. Kei doesn’t want to put up with anyone’s bullshit except his own. In the end, that entire conversation with Kuroo meant shit all, when nothing is going to come of it. 

“Tsukki-” 

“Oi, Tsukishima!” 

Kei scowls at the window and refuses to look away once more. Hinata could very well disappear between one moment and the next. The laws of reality may prevent it, but maybe if he keeps wishing for it, Hinata really will disappear. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a soulmate,” Hinata continues with more than enough breathless curiosity.

He doesn’t have a soulmate, Kei wants to say, just to be contrary. And because he still feels a grain of truth to the statement, spoken over and over until it all but lost its meaning. It’s always been just as obvious to him as having blond hair and wearing glasses. 

Except that’s no longer the case.

Except Kei has three Marks imprinted on the back of his knee, right where him and everyone else can see them. Has seen them, maybe even on multiple different occasions. That they were just as slow at putting it together as he had been is not much of a comfort. 

Yamaguchi breathes in slowly, already tense on his behalf. “Hinata, I really don’t think this is the best time.” 

“But-” 

“C’mon.” The joking tone is far too tense to be real, but Yamaguchi plasters on a smile anyways. “You’ve been on the other side of Tsukki’s wrath before. Do you really want to face it again?” 

His scowl deepens, even as Hinata goes on about how he isn’t nearly as terrifying as he seems to think. Any other time, and Kei would probably find Hinata’s bravado at least slightly amusing. Right now, Yamaguchi’s word’s just make the ball of emotion in his chest become more tangled and complicated. 

“Just… not right now, alright?” Yamaguchi tries again. Hinata finally seems to catch on that something isn’t right and quiets, allowing Yamaguchi to turn his attention back to Kei. “Tsukki, are you okay?” 

Even looking at Yamaguchi is too much right now. It isn’t exactly fair, because Kei knows he cares, knows that his response matters to Yamaguchi, but this situation isn’t fair to begin with. Better that they learn how to live with it now, rather than keep holding onto some faint hope that the world will get easier. 

“I… saw what happened-” 

“Surprising. It’s almost as if the entire team saw what happened,” Kei snaps, automatically. 

“They shouldn’t have,” Yamaguchi answers, slowly. “You know that, right? Nekoma’s captain - Kuroo, I think? - he should have pulled you aside before bringing it up.” 

“Then what?” 

“Explained things? I don’t know, Tsukki. I haven’t met my soulmate yet and you didn’t even know you had one-” 

“Three.” 

“Three?” 

Kei finally looks at Yamaguchi, a smile pulled tight across his face. “Three Marks, three soulmates. That’s how all of this works, isn’t it? Besides, you know as well as I do that I wouldn’t have talked to him in private. That I would have brushed him off if he simply pointed out my Marks. Knowing that, do you still think he did something wrong?” 

“Tsukki.” 

Yamaguchi always does this when he’s hurt, Kei knows that. That pleading gaze, just moments away from begging him to make this better, is usually a simple way to make Kei give into something or another. They wouldn’t be quite so effective if he pulled them out a bit more often, if he didn’t hate resorting to things like this. 

But this is one of those times where Kei has no intentions of giving in quite yet. The complicated tangle of emotion inside him have pushed him too far, have left him nearly bursting. Meeting Kuroo made him want to fight. His revelation made him want to snap and snarl and display every vaguely negative emotion out for everyone to see. Kuroo is an asshole, and yet Kei still has two other soulmates to worry about.

Given that him and Kuroo are assholes, chances are that they will be too. 

“Why don’t we stop pretending that you understand?” Kei pushes, his tone as cold as ice. “Because you clearly don’t. I don’t know why I thought you would.”

The wide eyes and pursed lips slowly fade from Yamaguchi’s expression. “Tsukki, what are you talking about?” 

“Is there any reason why you should understand what this feels like?” 

“Of course there is. I understand what you’re feeling, because I know you!” 

The shout briefly echoes through the bus, but Kei doesn’t allow himself to waver. His gaze stays on Yamaguchi, steady and calm, even if he’s half-tempted to glower at Hinata who is undoubtedly staring over the back of his seat. With a bit of luck, Sugawara won’t come back here and try to fix things either.

All it takes is a few seconds of staring at his thin smile for Yamaguchi to stand up. His bag gets caught on the edge of the seat, but a couple harsh tugs free it, and then he’s gone. Only once Kei hears Tanaka quietly worry over Yamaguchi does he turn back towards the window, all emotion carefully wiped from his face. 

Things are better this way. 

Yamaguchi won’t ask about Kuroo again, not like that. Which means that Kei won’t have to talk about Kuroo or think about what’s going to happen next or anything else. It’s not like they sat around and exchanged numbers. It’s not like Kei wants to talk to Kuroo, wants to acknowledge the bond that society insists they share. 

And yet the life Kei believed he would lead is quickly slipping through his fingers. Maybe he never had an explicit plan, but some things he had taken for granted. Like graduating from high school and getting a job or going to university, maybe sharing an apartment with Yamaguchi for a while. At some point, Yamaguchi and Akiteru would both find their soulmates, and Kei would be there when they got married.

Maybe he would have found someone too. Someone who wouldn’t care if he wasn’t overly attached, who was satisfied with keeping a distance themselves. Or maybe he wouldn’t have and been perfectly at peace with that fact. 

Planning to fall in love and ruin every other aspect of his life always sounded like such a waste to him.

.

.

.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to watch you play tomorrow?” Akiteru asks, hesitant. “I have the day off work.”

Kei rolls his eyes. “I’m sure.” 

Neither of them point out the parallels between this and Kei’s requests from back in high school. Kei is already overly aware of it. But no amount of playing with Karasuno has made him understand Akiteru’s lying from back then.

“Kei…” 

“You already act like an idiot most of the time,” Kei says, blandly. “It’ll be distracting.” 

“I promise I’ll try my best not to be distracting. You won’t even notice me up in the stands,” Akiteru pushes. 

Kei smiles. It isn’t a nice smile, not by a long shot. “Not distracting? Are you saying that you’ll restrain yourself when I block the other team’s spike? That you’ll be a silent ghost in the back of the stands?” 

The pout Akiteru gives him is more than enough proof that he wouldn’t be able to manage that much, and Kei finally gives into the urge to throw the volleyball at his face. 

Akiteru flails immediately, only just catching it before it collided with his forehead. His pout only grows, though. If someone were to come over to visit, they would undoubtedly think Kei was the older brother, instead of the other way around. But that is the grim reality he’s been living with his entire life. 

“I should go ask Yamaguchi instead.” Akiteru pauses, then sighs. “Except you’ve probably already warned him not to agree.”

Kei flinches, despite himself. 

Akiteru slowly stops, the dim light from the back porch only darkening the worried lines in his face. “You and Yamaguchi are still friends, aren’t you?” 

“Of course,” he says. 

“Kei.”

“What does it matter?”

Akiteru groans, his head briefly tilting back as he glances up at the sky. "You and Yamaguchi have been friends for years. If you did something to screw that up-” 

“That’s the type of person you take me for?” Kei snaps. 

“What? Kei-” 

Whatever Akiteru wanted to say is cut off by Kei slamming the back door shut behind him. He pauses briefly to lock it as well. Their mother will find him quickly enough, anyways. And by that point, Kei can be locked away in his room. 

It isn’t like he hasn’t thought similar sentiments himself these last couple weeks. All it would take is one apology and Yamaguchi would stop ignoring him. It wouldn’t even matter if it sounded forced, because Yamaguchi would still understand. He would probably even laugh at the attempt, even as he waved Kei off and they continued as usual.

Things have always been that way between them. Less mushy-gushy stuff and more endless teasing with clear boundaries of what was too much. Kei never wanted it any other way.

His mother is singing under her breath as he sneaks by. She’s just preoccupied enough that she won’t hear the stairs creaking under his weight or Akiteru knocking at the back door. Kei takes that as a well-intentioned sign to close his bedroom door behind him and collapse face-first onto his bed.

Akiteru’s accusation quickly fades from his mind as he lays there. Inter High is tomorrow, an easy distraction despite how little Kei cares about it. The tournament is their first opportunity to screw up in front of a crowd, after all. Best to be prepared for Hinata’s stupidity before he serves another ball directly into Kageyama’s head. 

Before Kei even realizes it, he’s reaching for his phone. The empty screen stares back at him, the usual handful of messages he would have received by this point in the evening absent. His grip on the phone tightens, self hatred tempting him into typing Kuroo Tetsurou into the search engine. 

The result Kei wants comes up immediately. 

Kuroo’s profile picture isn’t even of him. Instead, it’s some artistic shot of a volleyball, blue sky filling the background behind it. Scrolling down reveals a picture of Nekoma after some practice last week. Kei lingers on it for a few moments, because while seeing their libero shout at some tall guy is amusing, Kuroo isn’t in the picture. 

Neither is he in the second picture. But Kei’s mouth still goes dry at the blurry picture. The caption is only a heart, except its meaning is as clear as day. Two guys are curled up on a couch, fast asleep. They aren’t just sleeping either, but cuddling, the more muscular of the two all but wrapped around the other, his mouth wide open. Both of them are gorgeous, though aesthetically opposites. 

Chances are that both of them are his soulmates. That they managed to stumble upon each other, just so Kei would have to deal with having three new soulmates, instead of just one. Instead of the lack of soulmates he thought he had. 

Kei can’t bring himself to scroll further down the page. This has to be the eighth or ninth time he’s been on Kuroo’s profile, and not once has he gotten past this picture. He’s likely spent a couple hours taking it in, attempting to rationalize it, but move past it, Kei has not managed. 

And today won’t be the day that he starts. His phone drops back down to his bed and he closes his eyes, listening to the low conversation between Akiteru and their mother from downstairs. Just a few minutes and he’ll be called down as well. Quality family time in exchange for being an asshole has been the unspoken agreement in his family for as long as he can remember. Akiteru is the only one who hasn’t taken advantage of it.

As expected, only a few minutes go by before his mother knocks on his door, her knowing look enough to drag him out of bed. It’s another couple hours before Akiteru leaves for the night, but it goes by quickly enough.

Not as quickly as Prefectures do the next day, though. Even Kei has to admit that it’s not quite as boring as he’d like it to be. 

It still isn’t as exciting as Hinata makes it out to be.

The second day of the Inter High tournament is when Kei remembers why he shouldn’t care about winning. Their loss weighs on his shoulders despite his determination not to care, heavy and difficult to shrug off. Losing is fine. It happens to everyone, at some point or another. But losing to Aoba Jousai is something else entirely, something like wanting to go over there and rip that smug smile from Oikawa’s face. 

Even Aoba Jousai has another bigger opponent to worry about, though. And Kei isn’t oblivious enough to miss the exact moment they shift gears to that battle instead. It hardly takes them a handful of seconds. After all, Karasuno isn’t the team to beat. That role belongs entirely to Shiratorizawa, regardless of whether the idiots on his team have realized it or not. 

Yamaguchi boards the bus back to Karasuno before Kei does. Everyone looks so sad, not quite meeting anyone else’s eyes, Yamaguchi included, but he tries not to let it bother him. He tries not to do anything except linger beside the seat Yamaguchi chose for himself. 

“Mind if I sit here?” Kei carefully asks. 

Yamaguchi looks up at him as he rubs something away from beneath his eye. They look red and swollen, even this long after the match. “That depends. Are you planning on being an asshole?” 

“No more than usual.” 

“Good.” Yamaguchi shifts his bag from the seat beside him to beneath his feet. “Dealing with Nice Tsukki would be even worse than dealing with Complete Dick Tsukki.” 

Kei snort, hiding a smile as he sits down. It still feels a bit awkward, but awkward is better than anything else he’s felt since the practice match with Nekoma. He doesn’t even care that Yamaguchi’s teasing is as predictable as ever.

“You must be happy that we lost, though,” Yamaguchi comments as the bus starts to move. 

There’s a beat of silence, before Ukai starts to shout at Hinata and Nishinoya from the front of the bus. 

“Happy?” Kei tries.

“Yeah, you know, because now we don’t have to go to Tokyo for Nationals.” Yamaguchi’s face twists oddly. “I mean, we probably wouldn’t have beat Shiratorizawa, even if we had won against Seijou, but my point still stands. There’s no way your soulmates will be disqualified in their Prefectures.” 

The tension slowly drains from Kei’s jaw as he stares at Yamaguchi. 

Honestly, he hadn’t even considered that. Nor had he thought that Yamaguchi would know just as much about his soulmates as he does, particularly not after the way their last real conversation had ended. 

Yamaguchi watches him from the corner of his eye, then breathes out a laugh. “What? All I had to do was ask Suga-senpai what Nekoma’s captain’s name was, and then I managed to find everything I needed to know about him. Congratulations, he’s just as much of a dork as you are.” 

“I protest that,” Kei says, automatically. 

“That he’s a dork or that you are?” 

“Both. And the soulmate part.” 

“Well, you’ll just have to accept that you’re wrong. All it took was a few minutes of scrolling through his profile to realize that you two are a match made in heaven,” Yamaguchi says, far too easily. There’s something about the careful look he gives Kei that catches him off guard, just a bit. “And I’m sure Bokuto and Akaashi are the same.” 

“I doubt it,” Kei mutters. 

Yamaguchi rolls his eyes, but lets the subject drop. 

That’s a good thing, Kei thinks to himself as his heart beats loudly against the inside of his ribcage. It would be too difficult to try and formulate a proper response with those two names echoing through him. He’s never allowed himself to look at that profile close enough to pick out their names. Knowing doesn’t do much of anything except cement their existence further. Three people, all with their own personalities and ambitions and quirks, who supposedly suit him better than anyone else in the word.

.

.

.

Ukai announces the training camp with Nekoma and two other teams just a few short weeks after Inter High. Kei doesn’t pick up on what it means in its entirety until Yamaguchi starts shooting him anxious glances from the other side of the gym. Then he swallows back that realization until it can no longer see the light of day.

Everything had been going smoothly up until that point. Things with Yamaguchi had gone back to normal, although not quite as if those few weeks of not speaking never happened. Yamaguchi argues with him more than ever, insists that he actually wants to do better with club activities. But everything else was normal. Exams were on their way, but Kei wasn’t worried. And Spring High is still so far away that it isn’t even a blip on his radar.

Nevermind that Kei still hasn’t told Yamaguchi that he knows next to nothing about Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi.

Nevermind that his mother and Akiteru still aren’t aware that Kei has three Marks to begin with. 

Nevermind that Kei spends most of his time at practice wanting to cut Hinata and Kageyama down, see their endless energy fade away into nothing. 

Up until that moment, those had all just been asides. Kei could deal with them if he really wanted to. And he really doesn’t want to deal with any of those things, not even for the handful of moments it would take to have a conversation with Yamaguchi or his mother and Akiteru. His problem with Hinata and Kageyama can’t even be fixed, not when their priorities will always be volleyball, first and foremost. 

Him and Yamaguchi walk home in silence that night. Neither of them breach the subject of Kei’s soulmates, not even to point out the obvious consequences of this training camp. Not going isn’t even an option. Kei wouldn’t manage to live it down, considering who his teammates are. 

The dread almost makes the days slip away even more quickly than they would otherwise.

Exams go by without a hitch, just as Kei expected. But he also expected Dumbass One and Dumbass Two to fail their exams, and that’s exactly what happens as well. That they almost aren’t allowed to go to the training camp is an amazing twist of fate that makes Kei feel ten times better about this whole thing. 

But before he knows it, he’s boarding a bus to Tokyo before the sun has even come up over the horizon. The opportunity to panic on the way there disappears almost five minutes into the drive, because he falls prey to the call of sleep too easily. And then he’s in Tokyo. Or at least the outskirts of Tokyo, though he can’t help snickering over Tanaka’s and Nishinoya’s excitement over the not-Tokyo Tower. 

Then Kei meets Kuroo’s gaze, and his amusement dies right then and there. 

Neither of them say a word, not even an acknowledge of the other’s existence. A hello couldn’t force its way out of his throat if he tried, and Kei certainly has no intentions of trying. 

Which turns out to be fine, because Daichi wastes no time in pulling Kuroo into a conversation. The rest of the team splits up as well, leaving him and Yamaguchi by themselves for the brief walk to the gym. 

“Damn it, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says under his breath. 

Kei glances over and rolls his eyes. “What?” 

“You could have said something to him!” 

“He didn’t say anything either,” Kei counters. 

“And he looked heartbroken when you outright ignored him.” 

“No, he didn’t.” That doesn’t stop Kei from glancing over his shoulder to check though, even when Yamaguchi lets out a strangled laugh. Kuroo and Daichi are still talking, but Kei doesn’t know Kuroo well enough to tell if anything’s wrong. “I didn’t know you could be this pushy.” 

Yamaguchi grins at him. It’s probably meant to be a smirk instead, but too much of his enjoyment bleeds through. “I figured I had to start sometime after that hissy fit you were throwing.” 

Kei stares at him for a long moment. 

It doesn’t take long for Yamaguchi to crack, his smile fading. “Sorry, Tsukki. It was just hard when we weren’t talking, you know? I, uh, didn’t really know what to do.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I screwed up,” he mutters, stepping inside before Yamaguchi can say anything else. 

The other teams are already there, including the hosts of this entire thing. Kei tries his best to focus on warming up, even as loud voices ring through his ears, even as he tries guessing which one belongs to Bokuto and which to Akaashi. 

That strategy hardly works for fifteen minutes. Then Kei finds himself glancing over without even noticing, drawn by a glimpse of silver and black hair. 

All Kei can do is stare. 

Only a startled shout prevents him from receiving a ball with his face, Yamaguchi’s face a bright red when he finally looks back. But it’s already too late. His soulmates are standing together, within walking distance, whether Kei wants them to be there or not. No amount of willpower could stop him from looking over at them now. 

Kei hadn’t let himself think about how they would all fit together before now. And yet, somehow the three of them do fit together. It doesn’t matter which one is Akaashi and which is Bokuto, at least not until he talks to them, but it seems right. His stomach twists into knots. Nothing should feel that right, not without being thoroughly examined first. Knowing that doesn’t make it any more difficult to see the gaps in the way they’re situated around each other, places where he could join them without it being awkward.

Laughter rings out from Kuroo, one of the other two throwing himself at the third - the quietest of the three, who unintentionally meets his gaze. A rush of surprise flows through him and Kei quickly tears his gaze away. The picture on Kuroo’s profile didn’t reveal how intense that steady stare would be. 

“Tsukki?” 

Kei swallows and pull himself away entirely. “What?” 

Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything else, just nods towards the net. Right where the rest of the team is lining up to practice their spikes. 

That sets the tone for the rest of the training camp. Kei counts himself lucky that it’s only for the weekend, because he’s never felt this unsteady before, as if the earth might shift beneath his feet. But none of them approach him. And if his Marks change, well, he has no intentions of looking at them until he’s back in the privacy of his own bedroom. 

His stomach sinks when Takeda and Ukai announce another training camp while they’re heading back to Miyagi. And another handful of camps after that, right until Spring High is set to start. Putting him out of the frying pan and into the fire.

.

.

.

The next training camp is in Saitama. Kei doesn’t know why they picked this location, not when the heat surrounding them as soon as they arrive is so thick he can hardly breathe. The school’s ventilation system really doesn’t help the situation either.

Neither do his new knee pads, but Kei has absolutely no intentions of letting them slip down again. 

The cat’s eye was bad enough to spot there. Now, he has to put up with his two other Marks as well, mostly round but with small points on either side. Those two are identical to one another, but Kei prefers it this way. Just like he preferred it when Yamaguchi didn’t give too much of a shit about volleyball.

It isn’t like Kei is oblivious to how Yamaguchi has been regularly meeting up with Shimada for the last month or so. Like it or not, he isn’t stupid. Even Kageyama might hold a chance of noticing how Yamaguchi falls silent whenever they talk about serving at practice or how he consistently gets out of serving practice, given that it involves volleyball.

Then again, Kageyama has been so involved in his own tosses that he might not notice if the entire team showed up to practice naked. The entire team’s sudden intensity honestly makes Kei a bit uncomfortable. He can’t help but look at them and think of Akiteru, wonder if he trained like this, ponder over how it changes anything. Training camps only seem to bring out the worst of that tendency in Karasuno.

“It’s just a game,” Kei mutters as he walks along the path, Yamaguchi and Hinata having gone back to the gym. 

Nobody answers him. 

There is no convenient explanation as to how they care so much. 

But Kei stops regardless. That sounds like volleyball, the loud smack of an improperly received spike echoing through the air. His gaze is drawn to the open gymnasium door, his curiosity getting the better of him. He didn’t think that anyone was using this place. 

Only once Kei reaches the door does he stop. The obvious answer as to why he didn’t know this gym was being used stares him in the face. Kei has worked hard to make sure he hasn’t heard anything about these three. But here he is regardless, staring at them as Bokuto jumps into the air and easily spikes the ball that Akaashi just set for him.

Bokuto cheers when Nekoma’s giant misses it entirely, instead collapsing onto the floor in a sweaty lump. Then he glances to the side and the smile that spreads across his face as they lock eyes is almost bright enough to make Kei take a step back right then and there. 

“Oh ho ho?” Bokuto says.

Just like that, the attention of everyone else is captured. Kuroo looks over, a wide smirk already in place. “Oho ho ho.” 

If this is what his soulmates are always like, Kei wants a refund. Preferably a retroactive refund, so that he never heard that in the first place. 

But something keeps his feet rooted in place, rather than allow him to flee back to the classroom Karasuno has claimed as their sleeping quarters. Probably the same something that makes this gym seem so isolated and intimate, compared to the others. Like there’s a barrier separating him from its occupants. 

“What are you doing in here?” he slowly asks.

Kuroo looks around, purposely letting his gaze linger on the net, the balls, Lev still collapsed on the floor. It is as much of an answer as Kei should have expected from him. And yet, for some reason, he expected more. “If I had to guess,” Kuroo says, with a shrug, “I’d say we were training.” 

“But-”

“Did you think we’d be doing something illicit, Tsukki?” His scowl only grows at both the assumption and the nickname. Kei doesn’t know what he presumed, but wording it like that could only be a purposeful jab. “Sorry to disappoint, but even we have to practice.” 

Bokuto nods, his enthusiasm showing no signs of wilting. “If we don’t practice together, than Nekoma won’t be able to drag off the court when Fukurodani inevitably wins.” 

“Inevitably?” 

“Last I checked, we were ranked higher than you.” 

“And the last time I checked, Nekoma and Fukurodani have been tied in their practice matches so far,” Kuroo fires back. 

Bokuto puffs up, and Kei can’t help but believe that the irritated edge to his smile is genuine. “As if your new kitten will be ready to play at Nationals! Besides, I plan on going up in the rankings too, of course.” 

“And what? Do you plan on staying in high school for another year, Bo?” 

“We still have this year to get through before either of you can start talking about next year,” Akaashi cuts in, his cool tone a balm on Kei’s skin. And just enough to bite back the remark waiting on the tip of his tongue.

But it also makes Kei remember just where he is. That is, standing in front of all of his soulmates as they bicker about what their futures look like. Or at least, within the realm of volleyball. Kei doesn’t know them well enough to tell if those are one and the same. He doesn’t know anything about them at all. 

It seems obvious to Kei, right here and now, that he shouldn’t actually be here. A few weeks ago, he had thought he’d seen somewhere he might fit it, but whatever relationship the three of them have seems to be just fine without him to screw it up. If anything, all three of them would probably be more comfortable if he just left already.

“So, you going to join us or not, Tsukki?” Kuroo asks, casually.

Kei tenses, his gaze focusing in on Kuroo until the others might as well not exist. “Join you?”

“For practice,” he clarifies. “Bo wants some practice blocking and you would make a great third person for our wall.” 

Lev quickly manages to push himself up to his feet, his eyes brightening. “You mean-” 

“Yes, you can take a break from receiving. Just don’t say anything about it to Yaku, otherwise it will be your own ass on the line.” 

“Right, of course!” 

“I still haven’t said yes,” Kei forces out.

Leaving now would be easier, before any of them can convince him to stay. Before Kei goes and accidentally gets himself emotionally involved in something stupid like this. 

But Kuroo doesn’t allow him to have the opportunity. It’s almost as if he can sense that Kei is moments away from fleeing with how swiftly he crosses the distance from the court and throws an arm over his shoulders. One stumbled step forwards, and Kei has crossed that boundary, the choice already made for him. 

His protests are weak, Kei doesn’t need that pointed out to him. And neither do the others, if the way everyone other than looks at him is anything to go by. That should stop him from continuing like this. One last red flag before Kei is sucked into acknowledging that his soulmates are real people that he can’t just ignore.

Only practicing with them is actually a lot easier than Kei would ever admit. They get through a couple rounds without too much of a problem, but neither with a proper break that would necessitate them talking to each other. And blocking Bokuto’s spikes is satisfying in a way that going up against other spikers hasn’t been. More often than not, they get past him, but the moments of dejection Bokuto shows when they don’t is worth it.

Then Bokuto rattles off some piece of advice when the feelings that have been building up inside him this entire training camp burst out. It shatters the easiness between them. It makes Kei stop and think, and exhale shakily when things finally make sense on a logical level. A moment of intense satisfaction is a better explanation than any other people have given him. It makes sense, even if Kei hasn’t had that moment himself. 

But just like that, Kei remembers where he is.

He remembers that this is what getting emotionally involved feels like, whether he wants to be or not.

He remembers how much easier it would be to keep his distance, to go on with his life without this particular source of stress. Only they’re acting as if Kei doesn’t have to be involved if he doesn’t want to. As if the four of them meeting up like this is just something they do. 

The words gather in the back of his throat throughout the entire next round, like water straining at the edges of a dam. 

“What’s your problem?” 

Kuroo is the first to catch his eye, visibly caught off guard. “Excuse me?” 

“I want to know what your issue is.” The dam has fully broken now, and Kei can’t even decide whether he would prefer it to not have. “I’m here. What else do you want from me?” 

“I…”

Something feels wrong about how lost Kuroo looks, but Kei refuses to let it bother him. 

If he does that, then there are so many other things he has to admit. And the simplest explanation is always the one that’s right, even if that explanation is that all three of them want something from him. They wouldn’t be his soulmates if they didn’t. 

Bokuto quickly ducks under the net, inserting himself between Kei and Kuroo. “We don’t expect anything from you, Tsukishima. At least, we don’t want anything that you don’t want to give us.” 

“Life isn’t that simple.” 

“It is! We - ah, I guess we don’t technically love you yet, but we really want to. I’ve wanted to meet you almost since I was born.” The weight on his chest grows heavier with each word Bokuto says, entirely inescapable. “But that doesn’t matter if you don’t want to love us too.” 

Kuroo continues to stare at him. “Being soulmates doesn’t have to-” 

Kei flinches.

Soulmates - that one word he’s been trying so hard to avoid for the better part of two months. The word that keeps following him around, like it’s some sort of unwanted fruit fly. It breaks the last of his resolve, just like it was always going to.

He doesn’t give any of them the opportunity to say another word. Isolated and intimate was how the gym felt up until this moment, but now it suffocates him, pressing in from each side until he hardly notices that he’s struggling to get through the net over the doors.

The buzz of the cicadas is deafening compared to the silence Kei just left behind. It cuts through the static of his own mind as his feet carry him up the hill outside the gym doors. Common sense tells him he should go back to the classroom Karasuno is staying in, but someone could very well be there. Then Kei would have to talk to them, even if it’s just sniping at Kageyama’s recent failed tosses, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

There isn’t much of anywhere for him to go. Kei doesn’t exactly know Saitama, doesn’t know anything about the area except that it’s far more humid than it has any right to be. So, the need to run fades once he’s a considerable distance over the top of the hill. His breathing finally slows as he sits down and stares up at the dark sky. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising when someone cautiously sits next to him a few minutes later. But Kei finds himself surprised anyways, briefly glancing at Bokuto beside him. 

Bokuto is silent for a long moment, before he looks over at Kei with a sheepish grin. “You know, I refused to talk to Akaashi for almost two months after we met.” 

Kei stares at him. 

It’s impossible to imagine Bokuto as anything other than welcoming, edging that line between friendly and too friendly. 

“No, really!” Bokuto exclaims with a laugh. It trails off after a few moments, the sound turning bitter. “Kuroo tried to set things up at this cafe we go to sometimes, and I just… ran. Took one look at him and couldn’t stop wondering how he was supposed to be my soulmate.” 

“How long ago was that?” Kei asks, mildly. 

“A year ago? I guess none of us have really known each other for that long.” 

Kei focuses his gaze back down to his lap. 

Bokuto lets the conversation fade into silence, seemingly content to tilt his head back and stare up at the dark sky. Someone so energetic really should not be able to empathize with Kei so easily. 

But this is the second time today that Bokuto has managed to disarm him like this. First, with his easy explanation of why volleyball matters so much to all of them, put into terms other than a constant desire to win. And now, by sharing that moment - or rather, two months - of fear, of not understanding how the world put things together this way, instead of another. Kei swallows back the lump in his throat, unable to name exactly what he’s feeling right now.

All he’s been doing so far is hypothesize about this could all go wrong and feel at a loss as to how he’s supposed to fit between them. From the outside, their interactions seem fluid and easy. But if they’re still trying to figure things out for themselves, maybe there is somewhere that Kei can fit. Maybe they can prevent it from going wrong. 

“What you said back there,” Kei says, slowly. “About not expecting anything of me.” 

Bokuto turns back towards him, blinking, but not saying a word. 

“Was it true?” 

“Of course.” Bokuto pauses, his head tilting to the side as he thinks his answer over a bit more. “Well, we don’t have any expectations. But we do have hopes, you know? I hope to get to know you better, but if you don’t want to, I’ll respect that. Kuroo and Akaashi are the same.” 

The tension starts to drain from him as he thinks that over, a weight slowly lifting from his shoulders. Bokuto doesn’t push it any further than that, even though Kei can see his fingers tapping a some rhythm into his thigh. Rather, he can’t quite tear his gaze away from it, despite wanting to. 

“I think I could live with that,” he admits into the space between them.

.

.

.

There are only a handful more training camps before Spring High begins in full. Not that any of them are anywhere near as draining as the second one had been.

Maybe they would have been if Kei cared even a bit about Hinata’s and Kageyama’s freak spikes. Or if the team training he’s been forced into were anything more than mildly annoying, but the most thrilling part of that is when Kuroo starts booing at them whenever they try it in a match. Particularly when Kei gets to gloat when it finally works. 

Only there’s no Kuroo to gloat at during Prefectures. Despite that, they get through the first couple rounds without too much trouble. Even the match against Seijou doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating as it had during Inter High. 

All of that changes when they go up against Shiratorizawa. 

A lot of things change during that match. Kei feels like he’s on top of the world when he goes up against their Number Five and his apparent instinctual blocking, and still comes out on top. The shocked horror on their faces before Kei even lands back on the ground is a sweet, sweet joy. It could only be that moment Bokuto talked about back in Saitama. Nothing else could fill Kei with the knowledge that he will keep playing volleyball for as long as he can see that expression on his opponents’ faces again.

Their victory seems inevitable after that, even if it’s touch or go for most of the match. Karasuno has a skill for pulling miracles out of their asses, if nothing else. Only Kei hasn’t thought too much about the next step. Not until he’s forced into some training camp at Shiratorizawa before Nationals. Not until Hinata follows him there, despite not having an invitation. 

There is almost no break between that and the journey to Tokyo, just a handful of weeks later. Kei desperately wants to throw two particular members off the bus, but Yamaguchi insists that’s nothing out of the usual. It’s still a relief when they both finally fall asleep. 

Kei doesn’t get to watch any of Fukurodani’s matches the first couple days of Nationals. Partially because the breaks between their matches don’t line up well, and partially because Fukurodani is playing in an entirely different stadium. It isn’t too far away from the main stadium, but it is just far enough away to be annoying. 

Watching Nekoma play is a different story. Sneaking off between matches is relatively simple, and no one is around to comment on how his gaze doesn’t stray from Kuroo standing in the middle of the court. This Kuroo, the one who responds to Kenma’s silent orders and directs the rest of the team with ease, is understandable in a way he hasn’t been before now. 

Both this Kuroo and the one he knows have that same cocky edge, Kei tells himself. He’s cocky and charismatic and will probably never leave Kei alone, regardless of whether he intends to or not.

Maybe Kei is more alright with that than he thought. 

That thought haunts him right up until he’s thrown into the next match. But it keeps coming back, again and again, until Kei can think of little else during their downtime. It even leads to an awkward conversation with Daichi regarding Kuroo’s phone number, which goes on for nearly five minutes longer than he’d like. Daichi flees the scene first, fumbling through a ‘good luck’ before Kei is left alone.

Compared to that, sending a text and going to Nekoma’s hotel is easy. Kei keeps one eye on the door as he waits, purposely ignoring any worries about how strange this must seem. 

The decision to do this is more than worth seeing the confusion fade from Kuroo’s face when he finally steps outside and sees Kei standing there. Kuroo doesn’t hesitate to approach him either, a hint of a smirk forming on his face. 

“Good match,” Kei says, before Kuroo can.

It had been an amazing match. Even Kei can’t deny how well Nekoma has been playing, despite the tournament almost being over. 

Kuroo stares at him for a long moment. “You too.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Kei abruptly realizes he has nothing else prepared, no words that he rehearsed over and over in his head. All he did was show up here and hope for the best. Yamaguchi will have a laughing fit once Kei gets back to the hotel and complains. 

“Do you want to come upstairs? Bo and Akaashi were just about to head over to my room for a while,” Kuroo carefully offers. 

Kei shakes his head. “Karasuno has a strategy meeting in…” He checks his phone and grimaces as his own lack of planning. Now Yamaguchi really won’t let him live this down. “Fifteen minutes. I just wanted to-” 

“Stop by and say hi. I get it, Tsukki. You missed us,” Kuroo says, his smirk growing into a full-blown grin. 

“I was going to say that I wanted to ask for Bokuto and Akaashi’s numbers, but I think I’ll just leave now instead.” 

“Hey, hey, don’t back down because of my mistake!” 

Kei snorts. “Tell me why I shouldn’t.” 

Kuroo snatches the phone from his grasp, rather than coming up with a proper answer. “Because they don’t deserve to suffer from a lack of your presence. So, just let me into this thing and I’ll give you the information you want.” 

Kei stares at him before taking the phone back and carefully unlocking it. Neither of them point out that he clearly didn’t show up here because of that, but maybe coming hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Either way, it’s done now. Quite literally, given the speed with which Kuroo enters their numbers into his phone, not sparing so much as a glance at his own phone. Then he places it back in Kei’s hand, as if it’s just that simple. 

It must be that simple, because Kuroo is all but beaming as he goes back inside. The cautious air that had been present since their first meeting is gone entirely.

.

.

.

Final exams take over Kei’s life as soon as they get back from Nationals. With the amount of work he has to catch up on, sending more than a greeting to Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi isn’t even an option. If it had just been him, it would have been fine, but somehow he lets himself get roped into helping Yamaguchi study as well. Nationals took over so much of their attention that everything else managed to slip away from them.

It’s still a relief when exams are done and over with. The rest of the team talks about meeting up over the break to celebrate Ennoshita’s captaincy, but Kei doesn’t see the point. Everyone knew Ennoshita would become the captain. The other candidate would have only served to screw up their team dynamics to the point of no return. 

Besides, just responding to Bokuto alone takes up most of his free time. 

And Kei does spend the better part of a week responding to each message, before he stops. Bokuto doesn’t seem to be offended. But then again, most of his messages consist solely of emojis and animal pictures. 

Akaashi is the only one Kei actually talks to through text. Kuroo and him will exchange the occasional set of jabbing comments, or Kei will turn down his requests to video chat. But Akaashi actually takes the time to ask thoughtful questions about what Kei is doing, about his classes and training once the break is over. If he’s gotten used to the changing team dynamics that come with the new first years. 

That’s why it isn’t a surprise when Fukurodani sets up a special practice match a month or so before Inter High starts. Akaashi has mentioned their own rocky dynamics since Bokuto left, and how their coach thinks setting Karasuno up as a rival will help with that. It just seems that Ukai has similar thoughts. Either that or the Neighbourhood Association is too busy with their own things to set up a proper practice match like they had last year. 

Kei can’t even bring himself to be annoyed about spending his Saturday at Karasuno, instead of at home in bed during the week leading up to it. Yamaguchi notices it himself during their walk home and promptly bursts out into laughter, his smug grin not fading all evening. 

A text from Akaashi on Saturday morning even has him picking up his speed. A good portion of that is because the text consists of a very bland, “Don’t be too shocked when you see me,” but Kei isn’t naive enough to believe that’s the only reason. He’s still lingering around the parking lot as Fukurodani pulls in and the bus doors open. 

Akaashi’s eyes fall on him as soon as he walks off the bus, his head ducking without warning. 

But the damage has already been done. 

Kei stands there, the air having already been forced out of his lungs. It takes him a long moment to notice Akaashi attempting to slip past him without so much as a word. But he does, a scowl spreading across his face. 

He doesn’t think twice about catching up to Akaashi, doesn’t hesitate in grabbing for his shoulder and stopping him. Akaashi halts, his gaze still downcast, and they both pause. The rest of Fukurodani passes by in those brief moments, full of stilted, awkward conversation. A couple of the first years don’t seem to notice the two of them, asking loud questions about what playing against Karasuno will be like, but the others are silent, for the most part.

“What the fuck happened?” Kei spits out, as soon as most of the team is out of sight. 

Akaashi finally looks up, their eyes meeting properly for the first time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tsukishima-san.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“Who hurt you?” Kei pushes. It’s the only thing he can do in response to the angry purple gathered beneath Akaashi’s left eye, almost concealing it entirely. “And don’t try to tell me nobody did.” 

“Tsukishima.” 

“You were the one who sent me that text! Just tell me, already.”

The miniscule smile spreading across Akaashi’s lips is jarring, contrasted so deeply with his bruised eye. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t know them, anyways.” 

“I could still-” 

Akaashi breathes out a low laugh. “Come all the way to Fukurodani to defend my honour? Trust me when I say that they’re already in worse condition than I am. Which is unsurprising, given that I was the one to start the fight in the first place.” 

His mind goes blank. 

Kei has never found fighting to be particularly attractive. If anything, it was just something that idiots tended to do. There are far more effective ways of fighting someone than with one’s fists, even if Kei has seen the appeal in resorting to those measures from time to time.

But something about picturing Akaashi fighting someone, whatever the reason behind it, is enough to make all his higher thought processes grind to a halt. Just seeing Akaashi angry would be a sight to behold. A sight that Kei has no reserves to admitting that he wants to see, in one form or another. 

Wanting to see anything more of his soulmates is a thought Kei most certainly did not expect to have.


	9. iii: Bokuto Koutarou

Koutarou walks across the stage with a blank mind. Everyone’s attention is briefly focused on him, the rest of his class fading away for the time it takes him to grab his diploma and shake the hands of his homeroom teacher and the principal. 

Then he steps into line with the other students, and the rest of the ceremony goes on without pause. They had been told not to open up their diplomas while they were on stage, but Koutarou can’t resist now that he has it in front of him. He waits a heartbeat, then carefully opens the sleek cover to stare at it. 

He blinks, his heart sinking. 

Someone urges him along in the line, just a few people left in this row before they loop around and get to sit. They don’t seem to understand or care that Koutarou is staring at a simple piece of paper. The font is a bit fancier than usual, and his name has been written onto it with the flourish of someone who had been in a rush. That doesn’t make the diploma into anything more than a piece of paper.

The rest of the ceremony passes by without a thought. Koutarou gets caught up in the excitement of it all closer to the end, as the principal delivers a speech about how well they’ll do after this. In a few moments, he’ll get to see his parents and Akaashi. They’ll know what’s wrong with just giving out pieces of paper as a reward for finishing high school. 

Only, when Koutarou steps off of the stage and rushes over to the section of the gym he spotted them in before, Akaashi is missing. His mother pulls him into a tight hug before he can think twice about it, his father close behind. 

“Keiji-kun said he’ll be waiting for you in his classroom,” his father whispers into his ear. 

Koutarou pulls out of the hug, gaping. “Akaashi is - I need to - can I?” 

His parents exchange a quick glance and laugh, nodding. Koutarou hugs them both as swiftly as he can manage, then all but runs from the room, a wide grin spreading across his face. 

It fades once Koutarou gets to the familiar classroom, his footsteps slowing the closer he gets. For a few moments, he had forgotten that Akaashi would never leave him like that unless something was wrong. That Akaashi would know how important him being there would be, even with the promise of meeting up here, in this place that they’ve both been in almost everyday for the past year.

Koutarou stops and stares inside as he reaches the classroom. Akaashi is standing in the back of the room, awash in light from the window, and silent. All he wants is to shatter that silence, to put things back to normal, but he doesn’t know how to.

“Akaashi?” he says, softly. 

Akaashi doesn’t respond. 

Something clenches in his chest, its grip firm around his heart. Koutarou takes a careful step forward, then another and another, even though Akaashi does not turn around to look at him. It isn’t until Koutarou could reach out and grab him that he stops, uncertain of what to do next. 

“Do you think I’ll make a good captain?” 

Koutarou pauses, his mouth twisting. Something about Akaashi’s voice just doesn’t sound right, not like this. “Is… that why you came here? Because you’ll definitely be an amazing captain! Probably an even better captain than I was, because you’ll support everyone properly and - and-” 

“That was never a downfall for Fukurodani, Bokuto. But that’s not why I came here.” 

“Then-” 

“I’m going to need your advice,” Akaashi rushes to say, “on how to be a good captain. Likely every day.” 

Oh.

“Akaashi,” Koutarou breathes out. 

Akaashi turns around, just the slightest glimpse of his face visible before he drops his head on Koutarou’s shoulder. Koutarou really must have been an idiot this time, to have missed the wavering hurt before now.

So, he stops wasting time and cups his jaw, gently tilting his head up. Two years ago, Koutarou would not have been able to notice that there was something wrong with Akaashi. But now he recognizes the furrow of his eyebrows, the slightest downturn of his lips. Tears silently begin to slide down his cheeks, and the full weight of how much Akaashi cares about him rests on his shoulders. 

Koutarou wipes the tears away, and gives Akaashi a small smile. “You’re going to be the best captain Fukurodani has ever had.” 

Akaashi takes in a desperate breath of air. 

“Kuroo and I will show up to every match, even Prefectures. You know Kuroo, of course, so he’ll probably argue that Nekoma will win at Nationals because he convinced Kenma to stay as their setter,” Koutarou continues, his smile slowly growing. “Then you can move in with us next year, and we’ll convince Tsukki to come visit. And the year after that, all four of us can live together.”

A laugh escapes from Akaashi, watery but audible. “You expect to convince Tsukishima to move in with us?” 

“Uh-huh. It might take a bit of work, but Tsukki cares. And he’ll care even more after he stops letting his head get in the way of his emotions.” 

“You’re quite the optimist, Bokuto.” 

Koutarou grins brightly now. “Someone has to be! You and Kuroo always spend too much time looking at the negatives.”

.

.

.

“Koutarou?”

Koutarou glances up from his phone, hiding a wide grin. Or not quite hiding it so much as beaming directly at his mother, despite his intentions to the contrary.

She smiles back at him, then promptly reaches over to mess up his hair. 

The grin drops from his face as he takes an unsteady step backwards, just barely avoiding the quick swipe of her hand. “Hey!” 

“Look at my son,” she says, her tone teasing. “All grown up and moving out of the house. And now that he’s met his soulmates, he won’t even let his mother touch him anymore. What am I supposed to do about that?” 

“Kaachan,” he whines. 

Her laughter echoes brightly through the apartment, her hand falling back to her side as she turns back around. “Are you going to help with these last couple boxes or not?” 

“Just give me me a second.” 

She hums and starts for the door, giving the benefit of the doubt. 

Honestly, Koutarou expected her to at least a bit more upset about him moving out. But that could have something to do with how often Akaashi and Kuroo have been at their house these past couple weeks. 

Although, knowing his mother, she would probably say it’s because of how happy he’s been since Spring High finished a couple months ago. Koutarou huffs to himself. That awkward conversation with his parents about why he hasn’t quite been himself recently had been entirely unnecessary. He even had to go and explain the entire situation with Tsukishima, then explain it again when he came back excited about getting his phone number.

His gaze drops back to his phone and his grin returns tenfold. The message didn’t disappear over the past few minutes, which means it has to be real.

_Tsukki_ 36m ago  
 _congratulations on moving out_

Koutarou snickers at it, unable to hide his joy. 

Tsukishima messaged him first. Tsukishima thought about him and remember that he was moving today, so he sent Koutarou a message to let him know both of those things. Without Koutarou sending him a message first. If he weren’t currently moving in with Kuroo, this would be the highlight of his day. Maybe even his month.

“Koutarou!” 

His fingers pause over the keyboard, and he pouts as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “Coming!” 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to unload the rest of his stuff. More surprising is that Koutarou was the first of the three of them to arrive at the apartment. And the first to get everything inside. Although, the latter is much easier when nobody has arrived by the time he’s unloaded.

His parents do get teary-eyed as they start back to the car. Koutarou makes sure to hug them for longer than he normally does, more reluctant to let go than he thought. This will be the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other, and that includes all of the training camps Koutarou has gone on over the years. The homemade food in the fridge will only help so much, after all.

But in the face of that, Koutarou has a lot of boxes to unpack and two roommates to wait for. His shoulders roll back as he stands in the middle of the living room and he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. 

Unpacking, as it turns out, is a lot easier than packing. 

The biggest problem Koutarou comes across as he pulls stuff out of boxes is leaving room for Kuroo. Hopefully he won’t want more space than what Koutarou left for him. Then again, there is the smallest chance that Koutarou packed more stuff than he should have.

A knock pulls him out of his humming almost an hour later. Koutarou immediately perks up and rushes for the front door, his feet sliding across the smooth floor as he does so. 

Except when he opens the door, the person standing there isn’t tall and dark-haired, doesn’t shoot him a teasing smirk. His shoulders slump, weighed down by his disappointment, but he steps aside anyways.

“The landlord mentioned you were here.” Yaku steps inside, his mouth trained into a flat line. “But I didn’t think you would look quite so disappointed to see me.” 

“I thought-” 

Yaku rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You thought I was Kuroo, so that the two of you could fulfill some romantic fantasy or another.” 

Koutarou pouts, not even slightly put off by the accuracy of Yaku’s comment. It would have been nice to greet Kuroo with a kiss once he got here. Or at least have gotten a few minutes to themselves before Yaku showed up.

“Besides, we’ll all be sick of each other by the end of the month,” Yaku says under his breath.

“Oh ho ho, is that some Yaku-branded pessimism I hear?” 

Koutarou blinks, a grin quickly spreading across his face once he spots Kuroo standing out on the small walkway. He can hear Kuroo’s parents arguing down in the parking lot too, but that is easily ignored for throwing his arms around Kuroo himself. 

“Dude!” 

Kuroo laughs, taking a half-step back before hugging Koutarou back. “Hello, oh roommate of mine.”

“Tsukki messaged me!” The admission slips out enthusiastically, and Kuroo gives him a matching grin that could only mean he got a similar message. “Do you think we can convince him to visit?” 

“Aren’t you usually the one who points out that we need to give him time?” Kuroo teases. 

“That’s _different_ , though.”

“I’m going to start unloading,” Yaku smoothly cuts in, before pushing them onto the walkway so he can get outside. He grumbles all the way down the stairs, his voice slowly getting quieter. 

Koutarou and Kuroo look at each other, then burst out into a round of snickers. 

They fade after a moment, the hold Kuroo has around his waist staying firm now that they’re more or less alone. The arguing from the parking lot has only gotten louder, to the point where Koutarou can almost make out the words. Not that it matters when he can’t quite tear his gaze away from Kuroo’s face. Koutarou has been waiting for this all day. 

It’s hard to say which one of them leans in first, but Koutarou honestly doesn’t care. All he cares about is melting into the kiss and forgetting about the world around them for the next thirty seconds.

.

.

.

They only get a couple days before all three of them have volleyball practices to go to. Kuroo and Yaku are at the university just a couple blocks away, which sticks Koutarou on the train for thirty minutes every day to get to his own university.

Classes start a week after that, shoving him back into his least favourite part about school: sitting in a classroom for hours at a time. None of it is like the complicated biochemistry work Kuroo spreads across the tiny desk in their room every night. It’s amazing that Kuroo can work his way through it all at once. No pausing to check his work or even just to scroll through his phone, which is what Koutarou does more often than not.

Not that his education classes have been anywhere near as difficult as Kuroo’s classes. It may have only been a couple weeks, but Koutarou does understand people. Rather, he understands how difficult focusing can be as a kid, how just using one method to explain something doesn’t always work. 

In a lot of ways, Koutarou wishes he knew all of that back in junior high. 

Three weeks into the term and the volleyball coach announces the starter list. They already have a game in a short couple weeks, a lot sooner than the Inter High tournament for high school is meant to start. Which Koutarou knows because of his nightly conversations with Akaashi. He hangs onto every moment of those conversations, desperate to learn everything about this new Fukurodani and how Akaashi leads it.

Things would be easier if Koutarou went to the same university as Kuroo and Yaku, but this school offered him a full ride scholarship. And he has a chance of being recruited into higher level teams once he graduate. Just like how Kuroo chose his school based on its biochemistry program.

Koutarou listens attentively as the coach goes through the list, nearly bouncing on his heels. 

The urge to do that leaves him with each name announced, each name that isn’t his own. A quick glance around the gym reveals that he didn’t miss anything, that his name really wasn’t on that list. 

What makes it worse is that Koutarou can understand why everyone else was chosen. He’s only known them for a few weeks, but he’s seen how good they all are. Each of the new starters deserve the title given to them. 

Oikawa doesn’t become a regular either. 

Koutarou only notices him because he remembers the murderous rage Tsukishima had spoken his name with, back at the training camp last year. But neither of them make it as reserves either, which is announced just minutes later. His heart twists with each name announced, each name that is not his own. 

By the end of both lists, Koutarou just wants to crawl into bed with Kuroo, Akaashi and Tsukishima, and never come out again. His mood drops even further at the thought. Kuroo might agree, but Akaashi and Tsukishima wouldn’t. Tsukishima hardly responds to his texts, so he probably wouldn’t agree to even a few hours of cuddling. And Akaashi is busy with his troubles at Fukurodani. It doesn’t matter how much Koutarou wants to cuddle with them. 

The coach asks everyone not chosen as either a starter or a reserve to stay behind, but Koutarou couldn’t move if he wanted to. He goes through some spiel or another, something about this not affecting any scholarships, but the words barely register.

Then something is said about there being a high chance for the starter list to change throughout the year, due to high rates of injury. His stomach drops as he blinks more frequently than he should be. The last thing Koutarou wants is to get on the official team because someone got injured. That would never be a victory. 

For today, the dozen or so of them left get to skip practice. The coach softens at the last moment, and tells them that he understands their feelings. 

Koutarou really doesn’t believe him. 

They all walk back to the changing room in a daze, joined together by their shock. By the understanding that saying something as they get changed would just make this worse. 

Koutarou must make his way home, but it feels like he’s at the university one moment and at home the next. He makes it all the way to the bedroom before abandoning his stuff on the ground and crawling into bed. Him and Kuroo have their separate sides of the bed, but he collapses onto Kuroo’s side now, shoving his face into the pillow. It smells like Kuroo, through and through.

This is as much comfort as he’s going to get until Kuroo gets back from class later. Or until Akaashi finishes school and practice for the day, but that won’t be until later tonight. 

In the meantime, Koutarou rolls onto his side and pulls out his phone to send Akaashi a quick message. They talk almost everyday, but this is different. 

_Me_ 1m ago  
 _hey  
can we videochat later  
???  
i wanna see your face_

His hand falls back down, just in time for his phone to vibrate. Koutarou stares at it for a long while, trying to wrap his head around the quick response. Everyone has class right now, including Akaashi. That is unless Koutarou has made a horrible mistake and today has actually been some nightmare.

But there is, in fact, a message from Akaashi waiting for him there. 

_Pretty Boyfriend_ 6m ago  
 _Sure_  
Would you mind if I phoned you instead, though?  
It would be easier that way

Phoning is never easier than video calling, is what Koutarou wants to say, especially for Akaashi. He isn’t about to turn down that much though, so he quickly agrees and shoves his phone beneath the pillow, where he can’t see it. Akaashi has never turned him down like this. 

Akaashi must not want to see him. And right now, Koutarou doesn’t even blame him for it, not when he couldn’t even get onto the official volleyball team. 

It’s impossible to tell how long Koutarou lies there for, staring blankly at the wall with thoughts of his own uselessness rampaging through his brain. His fingers absentmindedly trace his Marks, the circles within circles a comfort. But his breathing never slows, no pull of sleep following from lying in the same place for too long. Too many feelings are packed inside him, too many things he can’t put into words.

Koutarou is still there when Kuroo gets home. He doesn’t hear the front door open and close, nor someone moving around the house until Kuroo steps into their bedroom with a bowl full of cup ramen.

“You’re… home early,” Kuroo hesitantly comments, as he stops in the doorway.

He nods, watching the bowl. A familiar scent is wafting off of it and his eyebrows furrow as he recognizes it. “Have you been stealing my spicy ramen?” 

“No?” 

“Have you been buying your own spicy ramen?” Koutarou asks, slowly. 

Kuroo opens his mouth, then promptly closes it again. 

“I don’t care if you have been,” he murmurs, turning back into the pillow. “I’ll just buy enough for both of us next time.” 

The sound of the bowl being set down fills the room, and Koutarou keeps his face hidden in the pillow as the bed dips down beside him. 

His resistance only holds for a few seconds before he rolls back onto his side to properly look at Kuroo. His knees bump into Kuroo’s thighs, but it’s better than the alternative. And Koutarou has already tried lying in bed and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo asks.

Koutarou drops his gaze. “Nothing.” 

“That sounds like a load of shit.” 

“It’s stupid, then.” 

“Right. And if our positions were switched right now, you would still think that me feeling hurt about something is stupid,” Kuroo says, exasperation seeped into his voice. 

Koutarou whines lowly. “That’s different. You’re already a regular on your team, and I bet Akaashi has no problems seeing you!” 

“You didn’t-” 

“See? Stupid. Not that it matters, because I’m stupid too.” 

The air is knocked out of him as Kuroo abruptly pins his shoulders to the bed, hovering over top of him with a wide scowl painted across his face. Koutarou could get away if he really wanted to. Kuroo is an amazing athlete, but they both know that Koutarou is physically stronger. 

Only Koutarou can’t bring himself to break free, to do anything more than stare up at Kuroo as the backs of his eyes burn. He wants something, something he doesn’t know how to explain.

Then Kuroo sighs and leans down to rest their foreheads together. It’s gentle, almost to the point where Koutarou wants to beg Kuroo to be rougher, to do something other than gently comfort him. This is too close to the sort of thing Akaashi would do for him, and it makes his chest ache. 

“You’re not stupid,” Kuroo declares. 

“But-” 

“Not a fucking chance, Bo.” His scowl fades into a thin line, somehow worse than before. “If you think I’m going to let you believe these things about yourself, then you’re wrong. Because you aren’t stupid. You’re a brilliant spiker on a high-level team, where working up the ranks will be far more difficult.”

“Kuroo,” Koutarou starts, barely recognizing his own voice. 

Everything feels different, his bottom lip trembling at the praise. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes, not quite understanding. “I’m not going to stop saying this anytime soon, okay? Even long after it sinks into that thick skull of yours, I’ll keep telling you how awesome you are.” 

Koutarou takes in a deep, wavering breath, his hands shaking as he reaches for Kuroo’s shirt. And Kuroo does not pull away, just lifts a slim eyebrow and waits for Koutarou to do whatever he wants. 

That momentary freedom just drives him further. 

Turning the tables on Kuroo should not be so simple. But Kuroo just lets him switch their positions, not giving a word of protest to the way Koutarou clambers on top of him, his thighs keeping Kuroo in place. 

Koutarou hesitates before leaning down, his bottom lip wavering as it brushes against Kuroo’s. And Kuroo just stares back up at him with warm eyes, as if to invite him in. 

That is the only thing that convinces Koutarou to close that last, miniscule distance between them. The desperation builds quickly though, his mouth open as he’s unable to hold anything else back. None of the rough messy feelings that have built up inside him, none of his need to be better, do better, are held back. 

Kuroo surges up into him, arms looping around his shoulders and fingers digging almost painfully into his muscle. It feels a bit like an answer to his feelings, if not a strange reassurance in itself. A reassurance that fills Koutarou to the brim with contagious heat, that threatens to consume him. 

He can’t tell whether he wants more of this heat or for it to stop entirely. This is nothing like the kisses they’ve shared before. Those have all been soft and sweet, and Koutarou treasures them more than anything else in the world. Even the couple times him, Kuroo, and Akaashi went past those small pecks on the lips, it never made him feel anywhere close to this. 

That had been a way of treasuring each other. 

This feels more like he’s taking exactly what he needs from Kuroo, without so much as a thought to anything else. 

Koutarou shifts backwards, thrown off by his own thoughts, only to feel something hard press against the back of his thigh. Everything freezes for half a moment, panic and confusion replacing all else. 

Kuroo doesn’t stop him from stumbling off the bed, nor from leaving the room.

The bathroom door slams behind him, and Koutarou slowly sinks to the ground, his hands shaking as he grips his knees. It takes a long time for the heat to leave him entirely, for him to be able to focus on anything other than the confusing mess of thoughts inside his own head. Even the solid walls of the bathroom pressing in around him feel flimsy in their own way, impossible to focus on.

.

.

.

Sleeping is difficult after that.

Not as difficult as going to practice is, though. The team is divided now, whether any of them want to be or not. If the starters don’t practice with each other regularly, then their chemistry won’t match up during an actual game. 

Koutarou knows this. 

But he also knows he shouldn’t have laughed at Oikawa’s thunderous expression when he briefly mentions Karasuno that one time. 

Just because Oikawa talks about his beloved Iwa-chan a lot, doesn’t mean he isn’t the dangerous setter Tsukishima mentioned last year. Koutarou figures this out for himself easily enough. All it takes is one practice match on opposite sides to see how obvious that is. 

Sleeping is another issue entirely. More accurately, Koutarou just lays there for hours at a time, staring blankly at the ceiling and feeling the heat radiating off of Kuroo. And wanting, there is a lot of wanting to do things that he doesn’t really understand. There’s no reason for him to wrap him around Kuroo, to pin him to the bed, and far more than he ever really considered before. Living with one of his soulmates should make things easier, not the other way around. 

Koutarou doesn’t have the first idea how to bring it up in an actual conversation. 

For the first couple days after it happens, Kuroo won’t so much as meet his eye, the conversation between them awkward and stilted. Then two days turns into four, and four days turns into a week, and neither of them have talked about it. Yaku must be suffering the most out of the three of them, really. Koutarou just pretends not to notice his skeptical expression. 

That Akaashi still won’t video call him only makes things worse. 

His entire life seems to be falling apart at the seams, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Something happened between him and Kuroo, and they aren’t talking about it. Akaashi won’t look at him. He isn’t a starter on the volleyball team. All that needs to happen next is for things with Tsukishima to fall apart, and Koutarou will have proven that he is useless at absolutely everything. 

A week and a half of that goes by before Koutarou makes the decision to do something about that. Tsukishima is the only one of his soulmates still talking to him like normal. The only one who isn’t avoiding him in some way. Koutarou has to make sure it stays that way, no matter what he needs to do to ensure that.

And the best way to make sure Tsukishima cares about him is to go to Miyagi himself. 

Koutarou crawls out of bed right then and there. The clock flashes with the time, far different than he thought it was. Maybe the train station won’t quite be open yet, but at least Kuroo doesn’t so much as flinch at the sound of him rummaging through the room for his stuff. He slowly closes the bedroom door behind him, and continues on his way, overnight bag slung over his shoulder. 

The next train to Tsukishima’s hometown leaves much earlier than Koutarou assumed it would. He only ends up having to wait around for an hour or so after buying his ticket, a clear sign of his plan working as he intended. The train ride itself passes by quickly, though he only catches a glimpse of the sunrise before the motion pulls him to sleep. 

It isn’t until Koutarou gets there that he realizes he doesn’t actually know where Tsukishima lives.

His heart jumps in his chest when he opens up his phone. There are at least a dozen messages, not to mention the couple voicemails, all of which are from Kuroo. He hesitates for a moment, then dismisses the notifications without reading them and opens up a new message to Tsukishima.

_Me_ 1m ago  
 _so  
where do you live???   
AND DONT ASK WHY  
ITS A SURPRISE_

Koutarou stares at his phone in wait for a response, his weight shifting back and forth as he glances back at the train station every few seconds. 

A minute goes by, then five minutes, then ten. Then Koutarou catches sight of the time clearly displayed along the top of his phone, and his stomach sinks. Today is Saturday, and Karasuno always have morning practice on Saturdays at this time. They’ll probably be there for another hour or so even, if not a bit longer. 

It can’t be that difficult to get to Karasuno from here. 

Koutarou hasn’t actually been there before, but Kuroo mentioned it not taking too long last year. And he even has his phone to help him surprise Tsukishima at practice, instead of at home. As easy as that.

Only not as easy as that.

Koutarou follows the bus schedule perfectly, but the street he steps out onto is no less confusing to him than the streets outside the train station. There shouldn’t be any shops on the same street as Karasuno. Or at least, there should be a sign or something. 

Just as Koutarou is about to give up, his phone lights up in his hand. He tenses automatically and stares at it in anticipation of seeing _Gorgeous Boyfriend!!!_ flashing across the screen.

Seeing _Tsukki! <3_ is more of a relief than it’s ever been. 

Koutarou quickly answers, letting a grin spread across his face. “Tsukki!” 

“Why do you want to know where I live?” comes the immediate reply. 

“Um.” 

“And where _are_ you?” Tsukishima snaps, his irritation quick to rise. “Everyone is freaking out.” 

“Everyone?” Koutarou asks, faintly.

“Ugh.” 

“Tsukki?”

Koutarou can almost see him rolls his eyes. “Nobody can ever shut up at practice. And Kenma and Hinata talk when they can.” 

He swallows, unable to force out a word. 

The notifications he dismissed earlier come to mind once more, the calls from Kuroo only vaguely petering out. Kuroo, who woke up alone this morning with no idea where Koutarou went.

Tsukishima groans, exasperated, as Koutarou steps off the sidewalk absentmindedly to let a couple pass by. The urge to slump to the ground is hard to ignore. There’s a chance he might have made a mistake this morning, maybe even a couple before that, even if he doesn’t want to think about it. 

There’s a beat of silence before Tsukishima pointedly asks, “Where are you?” 

Koutarou looks around. “Some… where?” 

“You’re in Sendai, aren’t you?” 

Koutarou pulls the phone away from his ear and gapes at it, before pressing it back. “How did-” 

“You asked me where I live, Bokuto.” Tsukishima could not sound more bored if he tried. “But you aren’t at Karasuno, and I haven’t told you my address. Where are you?” 

He carefully looks at his surroundings. The sleepy-looking shops aren’t any more familiar than they were a few minutes ago. 

“Nevermind.” 

Koutarou blinks at the sudden echo in Tsukishima’s voice, his shoulders slumping when he spots him walking down the street. 

Tsukishima makes a show of hanging up and putting his phone in his pocket, and Koutarou hesitantly does the same. Having Tsukishima in front of him for the first time in months is different than he thought it would be. The distance between them is slow to close, the atmosphere surrounding them awkward. 

What Koutarou wants to do is sprint over and fling his arms open for a hug, the way he does after not seeing Kuroo for a couple hours. But he doesn’t actually know where things stand between them, doesn’t know if he should even make these careful steps forwards. What he does do is offer a wavering grin over at Yamaguchi standing a half-step behind Tsukishima, although he just gets an odd look for his effort. This probably seems a bit like a joke to anyone else. 

“I hope you enjoyed the trip here,” Tsukishima says, blandly, “because you’ll be making it again soon.” 

His face falls. “Tsukki-” 

“What did you think would happen? Kuroo is tearing half of Tokyo apart looking for you.” 

Koutarou flinches at the blunt reminder, although the image sends a bit of guilty pleasure through him. 

Kuroo does care about him. Which means he can’t be too upset about Koutarou fleeing, both now and before. Which means everything can go back to normal once he gets back, including Akaashi’s sudden inability to video call him. Maybe Koutarou can’t fix not being a starter yet, but he didn’t expect that.

Tsukishima sighs, disrupting his line of thought. “You might as well eat before leaving, though.”

“He’s always like this.” Yamaguchi smiles as Tsukishima continues down the road, as if him and Koutarou are sharing a secret. “Don’t worry, he’ll let you stay the night. Probably. He has missed you.” 

Koutarou watches Tsukishima carefully. “Really?” 

“Just don’t force him to admit it.” 

“I will leave both of you here,” Tsukishima calls over his shoulder.

.

.

.

Yamaguchi walks with them until they almost get to Tsukishima’s house. Koutarou doesn’t even realize it’s because he lives around here too until he turns down a street, waving goodbye.

His talk with Yamaguchi leaves him beaming, a handful of sheepish smiles given to him throughout the way. Along with more information about Tsukishima than Koutarou ever thought possible. Tsukishima rolls his eyes whenever Yamaguchi brings up his dinosaur collection, huffs when talking about some bullies back in elementary school. 

There is so much Koutarou doesn’t know about Tsukishima. Well, there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about Kuroo and Akaashi either, but those things always seemed unimportant. Koutarou knows them, through and through.

Koutarou doesn’t really know how Kuroo and Kenma met, but he can picture it as clear as day. Kuroo probably skirted along the edge of Kenma’s comfort zone, before demanding something he knew Kenma would do with him. He wouldn’t have minded Kenma needing to go back to his own thing afterwards, either. That’s how the two of them work. 

Tsukishima announces their arrival with a slightly louder than normal shout. Nobody comes running, or even calls back a greeting. 

The silence is explained once they get into the kitchen and find a note from Tsukishima’s mother pinned to the fridge. 

Leaving the two of them properly alone.

Koutarou slowly looks around as Tsukishima leads him up to his bedroom. This is where Tsukishima lives, after all, perhaps where he has lived for his entire life. If Koutarou could, he would spend an hour or two just looking at the pictures on the walls. Almost all of them feature Tsukishima in one way or another, although there is a couple others in the pictures as well. A brother, by the looks of things. 

As if there could be another explanation for the picture of someone at their high school graduation. Koutarou certainly would have noticed if Tsukishima had already graduated. Or at least, he would have a lot of questions about how Tsukishima graduated in one year.

His tour is quickly cut off once they reach Tsukishima’s bedroom, the dry stare directed at him urging him away from the pictures. Koutarou doesn’t argue. Tsukishima didn’t have to let him come over or keep him being here from Kuroo and Akaashi, now that he thinks about. 

Tsukishima calmly closes the door behind them, undisturbed by the loud beating of Koutarou’s heart as he drops his bag beside his desk and sits down in his chair backwards. 

“Why did you come here?” Tsukishima asks, abruptly. 

Koutarou blinks. This - isn’t quite what he expected. “Because I wanted to see you?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“I did!” 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, elbows leaning on the back of his chair. “And I suppose you just forgot to tell Akaashi and Kuroo where you were going.” 

“That was-” 

“You didn’t even tell me.” 

“I told you it was a surprise!” 

That dry stare stays focused on him, unwilling to accept any of the words coming out of his mouth. 

Out of everyone Koutarou could have visited, he had to choose the one person who wouldn’t accept him having innocent intentions. Tsukishima doesn’t blink as Koutarou sits on the edge of the bed with the utmost care, a thousand feelings building inside him. 

When Koutarou opens his mouth to insist on the surprise further, a jumbled piece of those feelings comes out instead. Nothing more than an admission of confusion, but the rest of these past couple weeks starts to pour out as soon as that piece comes. 

He starts with the starting lineup being announced, because that is the easiest part. Koutarou has explained that bit a few times now, more out of necessity than anything else. The rest is more difficult, but it feels like a dam has broken inside when he mentions missing seeing Akaashi’s face. Then comes how things got awkward with Kuroo, how he hasn’t been able to sleep, how everyone feels so distant. Koutarou fills in the details as they come to him after the fact, scattered in every direction, but accurate in how charged kissing Kuroo felt, in how weird he felt. 

“So, you freaked out because you were horny?” Tsukishima asks bluntly, once Koutarou falls silent.

His jaw falls open. “What?”

“You wanted to have sex with Kuroo,” Tsukishima slowly explains. “You pinned him to your bed, then panicked because you wanted to bang him.” 

A lump forms in the back of his throat. “I - uh, it’s our bed?” 

“Same difference.” 

“No, it isn’t!”

“Have you never felt that before?” Tsukishima pushes, an odd look on his face as he stands up. “Have never wanted someone before?” 

Koutarou slowly shrinks in on himself. “What does that have to do with anything? I mean, no, not with anyone else, but-”

The words die in the back of his throat. Koutarou couldn’t speak right now if he wanted to, not with Tsukishima touching his jaw with those long, thin fingers of his. 

“Never with anyone else?” Tsukishima asks, lowly.

“Um.” 

Tsukishima lifts an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue. 

Koutarou takes in a deep breath. “With you? Right now?” 

A wide, predatory smirk spreads across Tsukishima’s face, no where close to the teasing expression Kuroo always gives him. Then Tsukishima leans down, his breath warming Koutarou’s lips. 

His head tilts up into Tsukishima automatically, into whatever Tsukishima is offering him. It startles him when Tsukishima pulls back again, his smirk unchanged. But something about him does look different now, even if Koutarou can’t put it into words. 

“Do you really think any of us would be angry about you feeling this way?” Tsukishima asks, a challenge in his voice. “It’s natural.” 

“But-”

Tsukishima snorts. “I can’t speak for the others, but it’s actually a comfort.”

.

.

.

Those few minutes are the most exciting part of his time at Tsukishima’s. Koutarou gets to meet his mother, who kindly insists on him staying the night. And then launches into a rendition of an embarrassing Tsukishima story over dinner, despite Tsukishima groaning and complaining.

The futon in the living room isn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but Koutarou still falls asleep easily enough. By the time he wakes up, he’s five minutes from jumping for joy. 

On one hand, Koutarou just slept through the entire night for the first time in two weeks. On the other hand, all it takes is one glance at his Marks to see that one of them has changed, the circle now entirely filled with black. It’s the Mark on his elbow too, which responds to Tsukishima. 

Tsukishima doesn’t comment on it, but Koutarou knows he cares in his own way. Just like he knows now that what happened with Kuroo is normal. 

Nothing compares to his relief when he finally makes it home late that afternoon and Kuroo pulls him into a tight hug. Even the comments about Kuroo being worried help fight the despair Koutarou has been faced with. And this time, Koutarou gives him a proper explanation, even though it isn’t asked for. 

“I wouldn’t be upset about that,” Kuroo says afterwards, hurt seeped into his voice. 

Koutarou nods eagerly. “I know! But I didn’t know back then, you know?” 

“No.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, grinning when Kuroo turns his palm upwards, then he reaches over to intertwine their fingers. “Tsukki helped me figure it all out. It won’t change anything.” 

“Back then. You knew I was-”

“Uh-huh.” 

Kuroo groans, but doesn’t press the subject further. His shoulders relax after a few moments, and that night, he rolls over to face Koutarou and pulls him close. 

To say the least, Koutarou doesn’t have any more problems sleeping after that.

Which is a shame, because worrying about everything with Kuroo meant that he couldn’t worry too much about the upcoming tournament. About wanting to be a starter, yes, but not the actual tournament. Not about having to watch everyone play on the court as he sits in the stands.

That Kuroo’s team is involved in the same tournament almost makes it worse. Yaku didn’t quite make it as a starter, but he will still be on the court as a reserve. A good part because their captain is preparing him to be the official libero next year. 

Koutarou tries to wish them good luck properly. He really does, even when his stomach twists, even though he can’t do anything about how their separate teams work. No amount of telling himself that there’s more competition on his own team helps make him feel better about it. Kuroo must be able to tell, because he only brings it up once or twice in the week prior to the tournament before he stops.

Not talking about it is almost as bad as talking about it, though.

The trek to the gymnasium is awkward the day of the tournament. Neither of their schools are hosting, at least. His school hosts next time, and Kuroo and Yaku’s school after that.

His mood drops further as he finds a seat in the stands by himself and watches them warm up. If Koutarou had been just a bit better, he would be down there with them. Maybe not as a starter quite yet, but he could be warming up as a reserve. That would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” 

Koutarou glances up, his heart nearly stopping when he see who’s standing beside him. “Akaashi!” 

“Is that a yes?” Akaashi asks, hiding a smile.

“Of course,” Koutarou rushes to say. Nothing could stop him from beaming up at Akaashi, not when he hasn’t seen him for so long now. “I thought you had practice today?” 

“Ah.” 

Akaashi must have practice today, because that’s how Fukurodani works. Koutarou starts to laugh, amazed as Akaashi sits next to him anyways. “You skipped practice just to see Kuroo play?” 

“And to see you,” Akaashi corrects, his gaze dropping to the court below. 

But Akaashi is smiling. Almost as if he can’t quite stop himself, despite being the one to refuse all of those video calls these past few weeks. 

Koutarou is speechless for the rest of the warm up. The other members of his team who aren’t playing are sitting in the same section, and Akaashi is right next to him, as if everything is fine. 

Maybe, just maybe, everything is fine. 

Koutarou never really thought about that possibility until now. 

His memories of there being a problem disappear halfway through the first match, when Akaashi reaches across the armrest and grabs his hand. Koutarou almost doesn’t notice at first. His attention is pulled in by the game, by the way everyone moves so fluidly, by Kuroo stepping onto the court. 

Then Koutarou feels the soft touch and turns towards Akaashi, his jaw dropping. Akaashi carefully doesn’t look back, but that’s almost better. Koutarou probably wouldn’t notice the faint red of his cheeks if they made eye contact right now. 

And that would have been even more of a shame than not getting to play volleyball.

.

.

.

“Dude, he was blushing,” Koutarou says, his words muffled by Kuroo’s shoulder.

“So you keep saying.” 

“He was!” 

“Maybe he got abducted by aliens.” 

Koutarou laughs, unable to hold himself back. “You’re just jealous.” 

“No, I just need proof,” Kuroo insists. His eyes are still closed, despite the light shining through the gaps of the curtains. “Actual, physical proof. Otherwise this will be the equipment room debacle all over again.”

“The equipment room debacle was amazing,” Koutarou counters.

“For you, yes.” 

“Hey! Akaashi didn’t talk to me for an entire week before of that.” 

“Oh, yes, poor Bo. So hard done by.” 

His tone is sarcastic, but he simultaneously squeezes Koutarou’s hip to smooth away the sting of the words. Koutarou turns his head into Kuroo’s neck, his grin almost impossibly wide. Worry isn’t quite the reason why Kuroo makes sure he knows when something is a joke. Moments like these are far too casual for that.

Worry and anxiety have no place in the warmth of their bed or just anytime Kuroo fills him with so much care that Koutarou could almost explode. Neither are they things to contemplate at this hour of the morning.

A loud growl breaks the quiet of their bedroom, Koutarou’s face slowly turning a bright red. Kuroo starts to laugh, opening his eyes for the first time all morning as his hand falls back to the bed. The laughing only gets louder when Koutarou rolls over and buries his face into the pillow to hide. 

“I should go make breakfast,” Koutarou mumbles.

Kuroo snorts, his laughter drawing to a close. “You sure? It might want to protest more first.” 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure.” 

“Alright, alright. Make something for me too?” 

“Of course.” 

Koutarou waits for a heartbeat before pulling himself out of bed. Crawling over Kuroo to get to the floor is a bit awkward, but he doesn’t mind. Having someone there when he wakes up in the morning is nice, even if he would rather have three people here, rather than just the one. 

Just under a year and Akaashi can move in with them too, if nothing else. 

Though, they might need a bigger bed.

Koutarou grabs a shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head as he heads for the door. Then he stops, frowning at the tight fit of the shirt around his shoulders, before it grows into a smile at the realization that it isn’t his shirt. Changing it for one of his own shirts doesn’t even cross his mind. Especially not after he glances back at the bed and sees Kuroo watching him, eyes lingering on his shoulder. 

There’s a fresh skip in his step when Koutarou closes the bedroom door behind him. Kuroo has been watching him with that same heated look more often than not these days. Nothing has really come of it, not outside of a few breathless gasps against flushed skin in the middle of the night. Something more will probably happen soon. Maybe not today, even if they both have the day off outside of some things for class, but soon.

Koutarou grins to himself and turns towards the kitchen.

Then stops.

That is not what he expected to see. Not even close. The person standing in front of Yaku’s bedroom door is frozen in place as well, both of them staring at each other with wide eyes. Last Koutarou checked, no one should be going in or out of Yaku’s bedroom except Yaku. 

Especially not this guy, because he’s about as far from normal as could be. Normal people do not tower over him like this guy does, not when Koutarou is certain that they must still be in high school. And they don’t have weird, cat-like eyes either. Except if they happen to be either Kuroo or Kenma.

“Ah! Fukurodani’s Bokuto-san!” the not-normal guy exclaims, his voice setting off a light bulb in Koutarou’s mind. “I knew you were rooming with Yaku and Kuroo, but I didn’t think I’d see you here.” 

“You… go to Nekoma?” Koutarou guesses, only half blindly. 

“Eh?” 

Koutarou laughs loudly, ignoring how awkward it sounds to his own ears. “Hey, hey, hey! Of course you go to Nekoma! How else would you know Kuroo and Yaku?”

“Did you forget me, Bokuto-san?” the guys asks. 

His laughter peters off after a few long moments. 

The lack of a response is almost as telling as if Koutarou had just come out and said that he only vaguely remembers this guy, nevermind something like a name. 

Both of them continue to stand in hallway, making no move to leave. In order to get to the kitchen, Koutarou has to pass him. And the Nekoma student is slowly turning a bright red and not looking away from him. 

Another second passes and the Nekoma student groans and presses his hands to his cheeks as he slowly lowers himself into a crouching position. It cuts off the tense eye contact, but Koutarou certainly does not feel any better for that. Not when this tall guy is oddly scrunching himself forward, as if to try and disappear from the room entirely. Not when he can hear Kuroo’s stifled laughter from the bedroom. A few months ago, Koutarou could have listed off every member of Nekoma backwards and forwards. 

Haiba Lev, Koutarou suddenly remembers, as if the name had always been there. He was there when Tsukishima talked to them for the first time. Only admitting that he remembers now would probably make the entire situation worse. 

“Uh,” he starts, awkwardly, “so, why are you visiting Yaku?” 

Lev cautiously peers through the fingers covering his face.

Koutarou hesitates. “You are here to visit Yaku, right?” 

“Of course. Yaku’s my soulmate, after all,” Lev says, simply.

Koutarou blinks and looks at the door. 

Then back at Lev, half crouched in the middle of the hallway and peering through his fingers like a scared child. 

Then at the door again, just in case Yaku will finally emerge. 

Neither reveals how tall, hopelessly genuine Lev could be soulmates with small, sarcastic Yaku. Even more important, neither reveals how Koutarou didn’t know that Yaku had met his soulmate until this exact moment. 

“He is!” Lev blurts out. “He just… doesn’t like to talk about it much.” 

“Oh. Does he talk about it with you?” 

Lev hesitates, glancing back at the door himself. “No?” 

“Huh.” 

“Should we?”

“Probably?” Koutarou stares at the door, contemplating and ignoring Kuroo’s failed attempts to stop laughing. The amount he actually knows about Yaku, other than his ability to sleep through anything, is almost nothing. Avoiding the subject would just make things worse for him, though. “Would you like breakfast? I could give you some pointers. Plus, I make some really good eggs.” 

Lev brightens, just like that, before straightening to his full height once more. “You would do that?”

“For sure! This way I get two people complimenting my cooking, after all.” 

The two of them share a grin, just as the Kuroo’s laughter finally dies off from the bedroom. 

It turns out that the look on Yaku’s face when he sees the full kitchen table a couple hours later is more than worth the effort of cooking a big breakfast.


	10. iii: Akaashi Keiji

The end of Keiji’s second year comes as a bittersweet surprise.

Keiji does expect it, of course he does. Every waking moment spent with Bokuto and Kuroo is a moment spent going over post-graduation plans. Seeing Bokuto at practice or in the halls at school means hearing an update on the countdown to moving in with Kuroo or some newly-realized plan.

Hurt is the word that comes to mind when Keiji attempts to ponder the odd twist of his gut whenever the subject is brought up. Only that isn’t quite right either, not when Bokuto sheepishly admits to starting a second countdown to when Keiji gets to move in as well. Jealousy might be more apt, in reality, but there is no real reason for him to be jealous. University will only be more difficult than high school, and sharing an apartment with Kuroo, Bokuto and Yaku sounds pleasant, although exceptionally noisy.

Regardless, stopping it from lingering in the back of his mind entirely is impossible, and the feelings themselves are dutifully kept to himself.

In one year, Keiji will be off to a different school himself, a school that is not a Fukurodani without Bokuto. And chances are that he will also move into that noisy apartment at the same time. One year will go by quite quickly in practice, and there will always be the opportunity to visit in the meantime. His month of exams reflects that, at any rate.

Keiji studies, though not with nearly as much vigor as Bokuto does, frantic with the realization that he actually has to pass his exams. Then almost within the blink of an eye, he’s watching Bokuto’s graduation ceremony.

By no means is the ceremony a small event, nor could it have been with Fukurodani’s large student base. Keiji sits near the front, right beside Bokuto’s parents and unable to tear his gaze away for even a second. Bokuto has earned this moment, regardless of what he might personally believe. The only regret Bokuto should feel is that Kuroo wasn’t able to watch it as well, not with the extra week of exams that Nekoma has left.

The reality of this next year washes over Keiji as he sits there, only half-listening to the names being listed off.

Bokuto will stick around the area for the next couple weeks, but then he will be off to his school in Tokyo proper. And Keiji will be here alone. Alone as he walks through the halls, newly dubbed a third year student. Alone on his trek to practice each afternoon, mentally preparing himself to take on the role of captain that Bokuto is leaving behind. Alone in those few minutes in the mornings, where Bokuto once hunted him down to briefly say hello.

That is, of course, an over-exaggeration of the situation. His other teammates will still be around, despite having only talked with the other members from his year a handful of times. And Tsukishima will be there during training camps and tournaments, including the occasional practice match just between Fukurodani and Karasuno. Only, Keiji doesn’t really know how to talk to him, not in the same way he can talk to Kuroo and Bokuto. Not in the same way Kuroo and Bokuto can talk to Tsukishima either, for that matter. Even then, those instances will be few and far between.

The backs of his eyes burn as the last person crosses the stage. Nothing has come to a stop just because his fists are clenched in his lap to stop him from trembling, because his shoulders are shaking anyways. Bokuto’s father glances over at him and places a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. That point of contact gives Keiji something to focus his attention on, something other than his own thoughts.

Loud applause follows a few words from the principal. Keiji pays attention to neither of those things, only notices the difference because the monotonous list of names came to a stop. None of the individual words stand out to him, although the sentiment itself is echoed around him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as people around them start to stand.

Bokuto’s father offers him a glimpse of a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I can tell Koutarou to meet up with you somewhere, if you want.”

Keiji slowly blinks as the sentiment sinks in. “I - yes, please. I’ll be… in my classroom, if you could tell him that.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

The ground is unsteady beneath his feet as he stands, nodding to both of Bokuto’s parents before continuing on his way. Making it through the room requires little thought, and the small groups pay him little to no attention when he stumbles through.

This should not affect him so much. Keiji has the rest of his life to spend with Bokuto and Kuroo, even with Tsukishima if the situation with him continues to improve. And yet, his lungs still desperately pull in air as he jogs up the stairs. His vision is blurred even before he reaches his classroom, the world twisting and turning without giving him a moment’s consideration.

Panic is not a foreign emotion to Keiji, although life would be much easier if it were. The whys and hows are too difficult to sort through right now, his steps are hesitant as he walks over to window and stares outside. People are slowly wandering out of the gymnasium, their voices faint but audible from up here. None of the words can be made out, but that doesn’t matter. Keiji doesn’t want to know what they thought of the ceremony, of leaving high school.

“Akaashi?” comes a low voice from the doorway.

Keiji does not say a word.

Not that the silence discourages Bokuto, the faint sound of his footsteps giving Keiji something concrete to focus on. Warmth can be felt behind him when Bokuto finally comes to a stop, so close to touching him.

Keiji takes in a deep breath, but does not turn around. “Do you think I’ll make a good captain?”

“Is… that why you came here?” The hesitance to ask why he ran away after the ceremony is something Keiji deeply appreciates. “Because you’ll definitely be an amazing captain! Probably an even better captain than I was, because you’ll support everyone properly and - and-”

“That was never a downfall for Fukurodani, Bokuto. But that’s not why I came here,” he says, quietly.

“Then-”

“I’m going to need your advice,” Keiji quickly interrupts, “on how to be a good captain. Likely every day.”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto breathes out.

Keiji turns around before he can hear another word. Even the quick glimpse he catches of Bokuto twists his stomach further, his head dropping to Bokuto’s shoulder before facing it head on is the only option. No one should see this.

It would be better if Keiji didn’t have to experience it.

A hand cups his jaw, tilting it upwards until his sight is filled with golden eyes. Flecks of pure light seem to be reflected in them, visible even through the watery filter between him and the rest of the world. The year age difference between them has never felt so jarring as it does in this moment.

Bokuto smiles at him, a soft gift that Keiji would never be able to refuse, then wipes the tears away with his thumb. “You’re going to be the best captain Fukurodani has ever had.”

Air properly floods his lungs, the sudden rush of oxygen almost suffocating.

“Kuroo and I will show up to every match, even Prefectures. You know Kuroo, of course, so he’ll probably argue that Nekoma will win at Nationals because he convinced Kenma to stay as their setter.” That soft gift grows with each passing second, Bokuto not showing even the faintest shadow of doubt. “Then you can move in with us next year, and we’ll convince Tsukki to come visit. And the year after that, all four of us can live together.”

A laugh abruptly escapes, taking even Keiji by surprise. “You expect to convince Tsukishima to move in with us?”

“Uh-huh. It might take a bit of work, but Tsukki cares. And he’ll care even more after he stops letting his head get in the way of his emotions.”

“You’re quite the optimist, Bokuto,” Keiji says.

Bokuto snickers, his grin now as wide as can be. “Someone has to be! You and Kuroo always spend too much time looking at the negatives.”

Keiji tries to give something back in the form of his own smile, as awkward as it rests on his face. Then his head tilts upwards, warmth flooding his lips, and he gives into the inevitable.

This will give him the opportunity to learn to treasure each moment with his soulmates from here on out. Whether they will support him in return is not even a question. But maybe that wasn’t what Keiji had been worried about to begin with. Maybe it was more a question of how he exists in this world without them directly at his side.

.

.

.

Treasuring his time with Kuroo and Bokuto turns out to be more difficult in practice than in theory, it turns out, even with spring break to help. Yamaji wastes not a single opportunity to have him direct the other almost third and second years, and Kuroo and Bokuto only have a couple weeks before they move.

They do understand why it has to be this way, of course. Keiji is the only member of Fukurodani who had been a regular the year before, the only one who has any experience playing in official games since junior high. But understanding does not curb his own frustration, especially not when it prevents him from helping them move in.

In all honesty, if Bokuto had not insisted he help out the team, Keiji would have enthusiastically skipped practice for that one day.

The invitation to come and spend the night whenever he can is much more appreciated than Kuroo and Bokuto likely know. The chances of it happening before their next break are low, but Keiji treasures it anyways. Knowing they both want him there makes the blow of not getting to help them move in a touch easier to handle.

And naturally, the opportunity to visit them does not appear in the last couple weeks before school starts back up again. It is not any fault of his own or of theirs. Not even Yamaji can be entirely blamed for wanting to bring everyone up a couple levels before getting a handful of new members with unknown skills. They should be impressive, but that does not always guarantee a good team. Sometimes, an odd mix of people can throw off team dynamics in unpredictable ways.

And team dynamics will get thrown off.

Keiji can tell before he even introduces himself to the new first years.

At least three of them seem to be from rivalling junior highs. That is the most likely reason for the glares and awkward glances being shot from one side of the group to the other. Another couple seem to be disinterested in the entire club, right up until they step out onto the court, then they have no problems in showing off. Yet another seems too enraptured with everything Keiji says to be taken seriously. It results in them getting hit in the head on more than one occasion.

Bokuto helps as much as he can, although is clearly surprised when Keiji actually asks for advice the first time around. Then he doesn’t quite manage to hold back his grin throughout the rest of their conversation, particularly not when he launches into a long list of suggestions.

Starting with practice matches, rather than pure skills, does help. As does making sure the entire team knows they can ask Keiji for help whenever they need it. Bokuto also suggests showing off to them, but that idea is firmly pushed aside. Better to let the new members of the team discover his skills on their own terms, whatever that looks like to them.

Those happily-given pieces of advice tend to churn through his mind at most points throughout the first month of third year. After all, their first test as a time is approaching fast. Yamaji set up a practice match with Karasuno for next weekend. Fukurodani needs to be slightly more prepared for it than they are now. Karasuno has too high of an ability to adapt to any situation put out in front of them, and that could very well be Fukurodani’s downfall.

Seeing Tsukishima will be the icing on the cake, if they manage to win. Maybe even if they don’t win. The early hour that they have to leave at is just about the only downside Keiji can see, but it wasn’t exactly his choice to have a soulmate who lives all the way in Miyagi.

“Are you going to the girls’ games next month?”

Keiji slows at the sudden voice, his gaze flickering ahead to the corner. With a bit of hope, whoever it is won’t pay much attention to him. Bokuto had been his buffer from the rest of the student body the last two years, even on days like today, when his lunch is still sitting on the kitchen counter at home, instead of in his bag.

Bokuto had made things a lot easier like that, always without knowing.

Another person audibly groans. “I wish. My parents caught me sneaking out the other night, though.”

“But isn’t your girlfriend on the team?”

“And? They don’t know that. All they care about is whether my Mark responds to someone, and if not, then _apparently_ , I shouldn’t waste my time.” The second person scoffs, their derision clear just by the tone. “If I do that, I might end up waiting until I’m an old man!”

“I get that. The boys don’t have their first set of games until the week after, you going to that?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Keiji forces himself to stop clenching his jaw and picks up his pace again. They could be talking about a different sport. Almost every sports club has their Inter High tournament within the next month or two.

But then he slows again until his feet are firmly rooted in place. All he wants is to be certain that they aren’t talking about volleyball, Keiji silently tells himself. The sentiment rings hollow, even in his own mind. Even having done absolutely everything he possibly can to get the team in working condition, others could have picked up on the tension.

The first one snorts. “You know that Bokuto isn’t on the team anymore, right?”

His jaw starts to clench again, a lump already forming in the back of his throat.

“Really? I thought he was held back a year because of his grades.”

“Nah, I heard they had to pass him because of some sports scholarship. That won’t last long though. A Tokyo university won’t put up with him once they figure out how stupid he is.”

Suddenly, his feet are moving, any apprehension about seeing them disappearing like smoke. No one gets to talk about Bokuto like that. Particularly not these two, who have likely never exchanged so much as a word with Bokuto. And yet, they still think they can make all these assumptions about who Bokuto is.

“Bet they won’t want to deal with those weird Marks of his either. It’s bad enough that we had to see all three of them whenever he walked around. You wonder if they’ll make him-”

“Uh.”

One of them catches his gaze as soon as he turns the corner. His neatly-trimmed nails dig into the palms of his hands, his thumb firmly wrapped around his knuckles.

The other is still completely oblivious. “What’s the matter?”

So, that is the one who has been talking about Bokuto’s Marks. Neither of them are familiar to him, but that isn’t surprising. Keiji hardly knows the people in his own class, nevermind anyone from any of the other classes. But he commits their faces to memory now, the narrow face of the one looking at him, the broad build of the one who had been talking about Bokuto.

“You might want to-”

Keiji exhales loudly through his nose, cutting him off. “What exactly is the problem with Bokuto’s Marks?”

The boy with the broad shoulders ignores the frantic look his friend attempts to give him, instead turning to sneer at Keiji. “What’s the problem with them? Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Answer my question first.”

“Dude-”

“Alright, you want to know what the problem with it is? I’ll tell you,” the boy snaps, pausing only to smirk. “Those things are disgusting. Having one Mark is natural, so that can only mean that guy is some sort of freak.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, thank you,” Keiji says, his voice low.

“Hey-”

Keiji moves before he can hear another word, his shoulder drawing back and his thumb still tucked around his fingers.

Satisfaction overrides the immediate shock of the broader boy’s jaw moving beneath his fist. The experience is one he never really wanted. And yet, want takes a back seat to the rage resting uneasily beneath his skin, the word freak echoing through his thoughts.

Bokuto has never been and never will be a freak.

Keiji draws his fist back a second time, with the intention of it being the last. But then the other boy steps into that short window of surprise. Keiji stumbles backwards, automatically reaching for his cheek. Dull pain sets it and his resolve strengthens, his restraint falls away. More than enough volleyballs have hit him in the face for this to be nothing in comparison.

A spike from Bokuto has at least twice the strength packed behind it. There is no point holding back his scowl as he lunges forward again, hours of setting firmly set in his arms.

The broad boy stumbles to the floor, but backing down is no longer an option.

It takes at least two people to pull Keiji off of him.

.

.

.

Consequences were not what Keiji was thinking about when he started a fight in a school hallway, but there are fewer of them than he would have assumed.

It must be partially because Yamaji gets to him before the principal does. The firm set of his mouth is the only thing to betray his anger as he takes over for one of the teachers in questioning Keiji. First comes the question of why Keiji hit some random student from Class 3-D, and the rest of the story comes out in bits and pieces afterwards.

Each word is firmly planted in his memory, his nerves only calming when Yamaji does nothing to scold him. Instead, he just sighs and quietly asks whether his parents have been contacted yet.

The answer is no, and Keiji silently sits in the staff room as Yamaji wanders off to do just that. Then the verdict is declared. The reality of being suspended for one day is slow to sink in, confusion shining through clearly enough that Yamaji barks out a laugh.

His one day of suspension is nothing compared to the week that the other boy gets, it turns out. The extensive set of bruises scattering his face would have been enough to stop him from coming to class anyways, not that it stops him from scowling at Keiji in the hall. In comparison, all the principal does is sigh and inform Keiji that even if his actions were understandable in the situation, he really should not be starting fist fights in the halls.

Keiji stumbles to his room when he gets home and lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His face aches from the bruise, but that is far more distant than the words still echoing through his head.

Practice probably starts soon.

Most of the team likely knows-

Keiji blinks as he notices the blinking light on his phone. Which is odd in itself, but odder still when anyone who would message him should be busy at the moment. His mouth goes dry when he opens up the notifications.

 _Owl-kuto_ 5m ago

_hey_

_can we videochat later_

_???_

_i wanna see your face_

A large lump forms in the back of his throat, one that won’t go away even as he tries to swallow it back.

No one has actually scolded him for getting into a fight, and Bokuto certainly would not be the one to start. But neither would Bokuto blame anyone but himself for the fight, given the circumstances. Keiji squeezes his eyes shut. The moment that Bokuto sees his bruise will only end badly for both of them. Bokuto will feel guilty over something that is in no way, shape or form his fault, even if Keiji leaves out some of the details.

For someone who is usually so oblivious to the world around him, Bokuto has an amazing ability to sniff out lies. Or at least, he does when those lies mean something.

Bokuto does not deserve to have these words echoing through his own mind. Bokuto does not deserve to feel guilty over something Keiji initiated himself.

 _Me_ 12s ago

_Sure_

_Would you mind if I phoned you instead, though?_

_It would be easier that way_

Keiji stares at his phone for a long time, waiting for any sort of response. It never comes, not even after he groans and rolls onto his other side. This should be the better solution for both of them. The only thing necessary is for him to avoid video calling until his bruise fades.

His resolve almost breaks two days later.

One day away from Fukurodani is apparently enough to start a handful of rumours. No one seemed to care about him and Bokuto being soulmates before, but now Keiji hears at least three people mention it before he even gets to class in the morning. Mostly in relation to him going out of his way to protect Bokuto.

That does not include the way the first years stare at him with wide eyes when he goes to practice that afternoon. Yamaji’s eye twitches before he calls him over, but their stares linger on his back. It would be better if the team were angry or confused. But all Keiji gets is those awkward stares, even from those squabbling troublemakers from before. Calling up Bokuto and seeing him beam at being asked for advice is just about the only thing Keiji wants by the time he’s heading home.

Keiji resists the urge, if just barely.

The practice match with Karasuno takes him entirely by surprise, the anticipation of seeing Tsukishima fading to dread when Yamaji reminds them to be at Fukurodani bright and early Saturday morning. Nerves fill him in their entirety as he boards the bus. If it weren’t for the awful hour of the morning, he probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep shortly after they start for Miyagi.

A moment of half-conscious clarity is what reminds him to send Tsukishima a quick message before he arrives.

Which turns out not to have been his smartest idea when his gaze immediately lands on Tsukishima as he gets off the bus. Keiji ducks his head in hopes of hiding his bruise for a few more moments, but the damage has already been done.

Tsukishima just stands there, staring at him blankly.

Slipping past without an explanation or even a word is almost successful. Keiji would prefer to deal with this wave of guilt alone, rather than force it upon someone else.

But then Tsukishima takes a clear step forward, not stopping until a heavy hand lands on Keiji’s shoulder and makes him halt. Keiji keeps his gaze focused on the ground as they both pause. It allows the rest of Fukurodani to pass by, filled with those same wide-eyed stares that have defined practice the past couple days. One of the first years attempts to ask loud questions about Karasuno, as if that can protect Keiji from this conversation.

“What the fuck happened?” Tsukishima snaps, once most of the team is out of sight.

Keiji slowly looks up, making steady eye contact with Tsukishima for the first time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tsukishima-san.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t.”

The purple, angry-looking bruise beneath Keiji’s eye throbs, oblivious to the way Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “Who hurt you?” Tsukishima pushes. “And don’t try to tell me nobody did.”

“Tsukishima,” Keiji tries.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “You were the one who sent me that text! Just tell me, already.”

The insistence strikes him as hilarious a split-second too late, but nothing could stop the corners of his lips from lifting into a smile. Bokuto told him how much Tsukishima cares weeks ago. To see the truth of that in front of him is jarring, but in a good way.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keiji says, softly. “You don’t know them, anyways.”

“I could still-”

A laugh interrupts him. “Come all the way to Fukurodani to defend my honour? Trust me when I say that they’re already in worse condition than I am. Which is unsurprising, given that I was the one to start the fight in the first place.”

Tsukishima awkwardly stops.

Attempting to figure out what Tsukishima is thinking is inevitable, even without much of anything to use as a baseline. The way his gaze is focused on something beyond Keiji’s awareness lends to the idea that it isn’t exactly appropriate. Then Tsukishima inhales sharply, his scowl faltering when he goes back to staring at Keiji.

It only makes his slight smile grow. If anyone from his team were here to see him now, they would be shocked at the sight of it. There has been little reason to smile at them or even just around them without Bokuto at his side during practice.

Maybe he hadn’t quite realized how miserable he’s been this past month or so.

“Whatever,” Tsukishima mutters, quickly turning on his heel.

He doesn’t protest when Keiji falls into step beside him though.

What Tsukishima does do is wait until after their practice matches are finished.

As if he didn’t spend all day glowering at Keiji from the other side of the court, a distraction unto himself. The only plus is that it manages to spark something in the team. It could also be because Keiji himself has been benched until his black eye is gone, or because Karasuno is enough of a rival to urge them on, rather than to fight. Something must be true, otherwise the first years wouldn’t be trading strategies for the first time in their lives.

Keiji is contemplating the number of spikes that didn’t go wildly out of bounds when Tsukishima marches up to him. Higher than any other practice has successfully managed.

This might as well be an entirely different team, one worthy of the name Fukurodani.

The glint in Tsukishima’s eyes kills each and every one of those idle thoughts. Drives the air from Keiji’s lungs, makes him stop and stare.

“Phone me,” Tsukishima demands, his voice low. “Tonight, after you get home. I need an explanation.”

“You really want to hear the story?” Keiji asks, quietly holding back a fond smile.

“Yes! You can’t just - I need to hear every detail, alright?”

The flush to Tsukishima’s cheeks hadn’t been there before. It’s enough to make Keiji agree without protest, a complicated twist to his heart when Tsukishima stares at him. almost as if he expected Keiji to put up a fight.

No one comments on his dazed disposition when he walks back to the bus. Someone must notice - the other third years, at the very least. Not that they would realize the reason behind it, given that they never came to the training camps last year.

Maybe one or two of them realize that Tsukishima is one of his soulmates, that Karasuno is more to him than a rival. Except they don’t know about the disaster that was Kuroo’s self-introduction to Tsukishima or the tension from last year’s training camps. It’s an odd feeling, in all honesty.

.

.

.

Keiji grumbles at the loud vibration beneath his head, and promptly rolls over.

His bed is nice and warm, tempting in its comfort. A lot more than some vibrating beneath his head would be necessary to get him to leave it. Only then it vibrates a second time, then a third, seemingly oblivious to his determination. All Keiji wants is a full night’s sleep, undisturbed by deadlines or practice or the second years’ sudden insistence that he help them with their serves.

That craving does not stop him from pulling his phone out from beneath his pillow and frowning at Kuroo’s contact name flashing across the screen. Last Keiji checked, they just talked last night.

He answers it at the last possible moment, turning his face into his pillow when he realizes it’s a video call, rather than a phone call. No one should have to function at this time of day. No one should have to carefully think through what is and is not going to screw them over before properly getting out of bed.

But then the screen fills with Kuroo’s face and the worried jut of his bottom lip wipes away any doubts Keiji might have had.

“Kuroo?” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Akaashi,” Kuroo breathes out.

“It’s… eight in the morning.” That is a wild guess, in all honesty, but a contradiction never comes. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

A laugh comes through the connection, strained enough to raise little warning signs in his head. “Probably, maybe - I… is Bokuto there with you?”

Keiji hesitates for a split second, then slowly sits up. His phone is purposely left behind on the pillow, but he appears to be alone in his room and there aren’t any voices filtering in from the kitchen or living room. Other than this call from Kuroo, this Saturday morning is the same as any other.

“The only person here is me, and Bokuto would be incapable of keeping quiet if he decided to visit,” he says. “Why?”

“He isn’t here.”

The words are followed by a hitch in Kuroo’s voice, by the sinking of his own stomach.

Keiji swallows and carefully picks up his phone again, unsurprised to see pain twisted into Kuroo’s face. “Kuroo?”

“He-” the word cuts off, filled with too much emotion to be spoken out loud - “fuck, he isn’t _here._ ”

“Kuroo,” Keiji says, softly.

“It’s my fault!” The proclamation is snapped, like the crack of a spike colliding with the ground, before Kuroo crumbles in on himself. “He - we went further than usual, alright? Then he freaked out, but I thought it would be fine if I just gave him some room. Which was obviously wrong!”

That… is not exactly the situation Keiji expected to wake up to this morning. Kuroo still isn’t looking at him properly, not focused on anything other than his own panic. But things are coming together more clearly than he cares to admit.

“Kuroo,” he tries again.

Not that it makes Kuroo look at him, or stop, for that matter. “And now you’ll tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed him so far. That Bo needs to be ready and know he’s ready. You’d even be right too!”

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” Keiji says, carefully.

Kuroo blinks and their eyes meet through the camera.

Then his gaze shifts downwards, and Keiji grimaces. There is no hope of hiding his black eye, not that he expected he would manage to after answering the call. He breathes in deeply, then lets that air leave his lungs as he attempts to sort through what Kuroo is telling him.

What would truly scare Bokuto off to the point where he would leave in the middle of the night? Not being pushed into something more intimate, into whatever happened between him and Kuroo, that is for certain. And another question is why is Keiji only finding out that something happened to spook Bokuto now, rather than immediately after it happened?

“Bokuto is not particularly self-aware,” Keiji says, as he slowly works his way through the possibilities. “I can almost guarantee that his obliviousness extends to this, as well.”

“Oh.”

Keiji relaxes, going through the situation more thoroughly when Kuroo doesn’t push the subject of his bruise. “However, he is still missing, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo answers. “You sure he’s not at your place?”

“One moment.”

Keiji places the phone back on the bed, before getting up to peer through his window. A glance outside does not reveal the distinctive shock of silver and gray hair on the front porch or the yard. For a moment, seeing Bokuto there had seemed more likely than not.

“He doesn’t appear to be, no,” he says, frowning as he picks up his phone again.

Kuroo looks away from the camera. “I… don’t really know where else he could be.”

That admission is more honest than Keiji expected from him.

A couple months ago, the assumption would be that Bokuto had wandered off to Fukurodani. The keys were normally kept with someone else, but Bokuto would have hunted down whoever did have them. Only he wouldn’t feel comfortable going there now that he isn’t a student. And with him not becoming a regular, being at his university gymnasium would be unlikely.

If Keiji hadn’t refused to video call Bokuto for the past week and a bit, then there likely would be a familiar figure in front of his house. The worst of the bruise has passed now, but the few faint dredges of purple are still clear to see.

Community centres are not out of the question, although unlikely. Bokuto prefers to seek out company when he’s upset, then turn to volleyball or other exercise when those don’t work. After all, what Bokuto likely craves is the reminder that he’s worth something, rather than the stress relief of spiking volleyballs.

Only him and Kuroo were not options for providing comfort.

“Neither do I,” Keiji hesitantly admits.

Kuroo’s face falls.

“I’m certain it will be fine, though,” Keiji rushes to say. “Bokuto may not be too aware of his surroundings, but he can take care of himself.”

Kuroo sighs and pulls his free hand through his hair. “You’re right.”

There are, without a doubt, too many options for where Bokuto would have chosen to go. Even the thought of him wandering aimlessly through Tokyo is one that Keiji would prefer not to linger on. Then Kuroo exhales, drawing his attention back to his phone. His gaze is a bit too focused on Keiji, the weight of that knowledge heavy.

“How did-”

Keiji glances away, his hand lifting up to his bruise before he pulls it away again. For a moment, he had almost forgotten about the fight. “One of my classmates was speaking poorly of Bokuto.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh. “So, you, what, started a fight for Bokuto’s honour?”

“I suppose I did, yes.”

The laughter fades to a chuckle and Kuroo grins at him. “That’s great, you know. All I can picture is the look on Bo’s face when he finds out. He’ll be so touched.”

Just knowing that Kuroo thinks that would be the case is touching, if unrealistic. Bokuto is not one to condone violence, especially if it’s in his own name.

"I... realize this." More or less, but Keiji has no intentions of explaining otherwise. If he does, then Kuroo will worry and this situation will only worsen. "I do plan on telling him eventually."

A white lie, meant to make this a bit better for both of them.

Kuroo sighs, then nods. "Yeah, I trust you on that. I'm going to go check a few places, alright? Just to make sure he didn't get lost or something. I'll keep you updated."

"Of course."

The screen goes black as Kuroo hangs up, and Keiji stares at it for a long time. It isn't quite as early in the morning as he had thought, but his alarm isn't set to go off for another hour, at least.

His plans for today had included going to practice in a couple hours, before studying for a little while this evening. Right now, neither of those things seem particularly appealing. All he wants to do is join Kuroo in his search for Bokuto, to make sure that everything is alright with both of them. Neither of those options are feasible, at the moment. The places Bokuto regularly goes, the restaurants and cafes he prefers, those are all things Keiji no longer knows.

He ends up going to practice in a haze, ignoring the anxious looks from his parents and teammates alike. Nearly getting a volleyball to the face is not the high point of his day, that much is for certain. Yamaji almost pulls him off the court entirely after that, given how clear it is that his mind is elsewhere today. Keiji forces himself to keep going though. None of his underclassmen ask for his advice all afternoon, for what is probably the first time since their practice match with Karasuno.

The weight on his chest even makes setting difficult, makes everything much more strained than usual.

And yet, Keiji hardly notices it until he looks at his phone after practice to find seven messages waiting for him.

Six of those messages are from Kuroo.

The last is, surprisingly, from Tsukishima - nothing more than a handful of words, but important words.

Bokuto decided to go to Miyagi for the weekend.

.

.

.

His black eye fades to nothing over the next couple weeks. Not even a faint red remains, the evidence of his fight gone, although the memory of it has not.

Neither has anyone else forgotten about it, for that matter. Even the two boys talking about Bokuto to begin with stay away from him, going out of their way to avoid him in the hallway. Why they bother to do that is another issue, although it is likely driven by either fear or guilt over being wrong. Keiji honestly does not care. It works out better if they stay away from him, anyways.

For all intents and purposes, everything should be back to normal. His life should be the exact same as it was before the fight, outside of those few rumours still circulating throughout the school.

Going back to normal should include talking to Bokuto again. Instead, even their phone calls have dwindled down to almost nothing, although through no lack of effort on his end. Bokuto even refuses his offers to video call.

Not to mention that Kuroo is the one to mention the upcoming tournament, rather than Bokuto. It takes Keiji a few days to figure out why exactly that bothers him, especially when Kuroo is the one who will actually be playing. Except Bokuto would have told him weeks ago, under normal circumstances. All Keiji would have heard about for weeks was the vague chance that Bokuto would get to play.

Compared to the way Kuroo casually mentions it to him, his phone propped up as he makes himself something to eat, is disappointing. Just an afterthought, even though Keiji is free most of the weekend. Even though Inter High isn't slated to start until the weekend after.

Kuroo is still excited to hear his intentions of showing up, of course.

That much should not be restrained, simply because Bokuto believes keeping things the way they are will prevent something from falling apart. Or whatever is going through his head. The exact impressions are impossible to gleam off of a blank wall.

Getting there and spotting Bokuto is the easiest part of the tournament. All that takes is walking behind the stands and watching out for the brightly dyed hair. That much has stayed the same. Keiji may not be able to say the same about anything else, but at least there is that.

Each step towards Bokuto makes his heart beat a bit faster. Almost an entire month has gone by since he last saw Bokuto, including over video chat. His pace picks until there are only a couple metres between them, then he hesitates. Hesitates and stares, because Bokuto is entirely focused on the court below and the intensity of his stare is breathtaking.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Keiji forces out.

Bokuto glances up, his jaw dropping when they make eye contact. "Akaashi!"

Keiji hides a smile. "Is that a yes?"

"Of course," comes the quick reply. The full force of his grin is enough to wipe way the last few dredges of guilt that have been bothering Keiji, replaced by warmth and softness. "I thought you had practice today?"

That is, technically, somewhere Keiji should currently be.

"Ah."

Judging by the laughter, Bokuto pieces everything together before Keiji even sits down. "You skipped practice just to see Kuroo play?"

"And to see you," Keiji corrects him.

His gaze drops to the court below, seeking out the distinctive messy hair and mocking tone, and his smile grows a bit larger. Anyone else might think it small, but this is the most content Keiji has felt since the beginning of this school year. And Bokuto deserves to see it, although he likely would not be capable of holding it back anyways.

Bokuto says nothing for the rest of the warm up. His cheeks are filled with a bright red, but clearly not because he's offended. Otherwise, he wouldn't be glancing over every few seconds to check if Keiji is still there.

A bit more tension drains from his shoulders with each glance. At the end of the day, nothing has truly changed between them. Keiji watches Bokuto from the corner of his eye and his feelings are the same as they’ve always been, despite not seeing each other for a month, despite not being in the same vicinity every day. Perhaps Bokuto not being at Fukurodani has been bothering him more than he thought.

The real problem is that he’s done too much thinking and assuming, and not enough doing.

Keiji inhales deeply, then reaches over the armrest to grab Bokuto’s hand, just as he’s wanted to do since he sat down.

At first, there’s no reaction. Bokuto is too focused on the game, on Kuroo waiting along the sidelines for his chance to go on the court. Then Bokuto splutters through a strange noise and turns to stare at him, his mouth moving through a series of soundless syllables.

Keiji does not look back at him, his cheeks warming with each second that Bokuto continues to stare. Excited energy rolls off of Bokuto in waves as soon as the shock wears off. Then he turns his hand ever so slightly, locking their fingers in place, and squeezes reassuringly. The grip is tight, but unmoving, and Keiji would not change it for the world.

Warmth radiates up his hand and wrist, growing until it could almost consume him. It’s a lingering sort of heat too, one that stays even when they go to give Kuroo their congratulations for his five seconds on the court. Even when Kuroo gives him a pointed look, smirks, then gives them both a tight hug, fleeting kisses pressed to their cheeks. Even when Keiji heads back home, the boredom of the train ride drowning out everything else.

It fades eventually, but only to come back in all its intensity during the Inter High preliminaries the following week. Both Kuroo and Bokuto cheer from the stands. Keiji doesn’t notice until their second or third time-out, but the cheers echo through him for the rest of the weekend. Their support can only fill him to the brim, pull out the best of him.

The other teams do not stand a chance when he feels like this, and his teammates feed off of that mood without so much as blinking. Fukurodani has come a long way since the school year started. Keiji no longer remembers which of the first years had previous rivalries, and which ones did not. That is a more obvious sign of their teamwork than anything else could be.

His pride in them does not match the giddy relief when Bokuto and Kuroo rush to the court after the last game. Most everyone has already left, but that hardly matters.

Kuroo gets to him first, only because he squeezes through the door before Bokuto. A laugh is forced out of him when Kuroo scoops him up into a hug, his toes dragging on the floor as Keiji is spun in a wide circle. Fukurodani won each match they came up against.

And Kuroo and Bokuto are here.

“Stop hogging him,” Bokuto whines as he catches up to them.

Kuroo snickers. “Not a chance.”

“But-”

The protests die off when Keiji properly arranges his arms around Kuroo’s neck and tugs him down. A wide smile is pressed against his lips as they meet in the middle, the arms around his waist tightening. Kissing Kuroo is a bit like coming home.

Keiji has missed it.

Just as he’s missed them both.

A strangled noise is pulled from Bokuto, and Keiji pulls back to look at him, the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Are you not going to join us, Bokuto?”

.

.

.

Unfortunately, the next round of Inter High Preliminaries is not met with quite the same congratulations. Not through any fault of Kuroo or Bokuto’s, given that there’s a university tournament happening at the same time.

Keiji hears more complaints about Kuroo having to miss the match between Nekoma and Fukurodani than simply not getting to see them play. The ultimate showdown that Kuroo has been shamelessly waiting for does not turn out to be nearly as dramatic as it was made out to be, though. There is no shame in admitting that Fukurodani lost this time around. Nekoma has a headstart on them, driven by Lev’s continuously increasing skills and Kenma’s cool head.

Both of them still have a spot at Nationals, which takes away a bit of the sting. Kuroo and Bokuto show up as much as they can, but Keiji forces their presence out of his mind. The stands are much too crowded to think about things like that, and the blurry pictures of him and Tsukishima only prove that. Regardless of what Bokuto attempts to claim.

Then Inter High is over, just like that.

His attention should be on a future beyond high school volleyball. So he believes for all of two weeks, before a full ride scholarship is extended to him from Kuroo’s university. It rests on his performance at Spring High, of course, but, well, Keiji is confident that it will work out. With how perfectly it works for him, it has to.

The end of Inter High also brings summer break, although it isn’t much of a break when Keiji has to attend every training camp. Including the Japan-wide camp that Bokuto had been invited to the year before.

That is the only camp that could be described as lonely. Keiji knows people from other teams, though he may not be close with any of them. But at some point, he got used to Tsukishima joining him for informal practice before dinner during training camps. At some point, being with Tsukishima became normal.

Tsukishima has his own training camp in Miyagi though, one aimed at blockers in the area. Given the messages he sends Keiji throughout, it is a lot more tedious than anything else. If Keiji didn’t know any better, he would almost think Tsukishima prefers blocking practice with him. Over the course of their separate camps, Keiji starts to doubt that he knows better after all.

Loneliness stays with him right up until he stands in front of an unfamiliar door, backpack slung over his shoulder. He rubs a bit of sleep from the corner of his eye, then checks the address one last time before knocking.

It takes a couple minutes to open, confronting him with scrunched eyebrows and pursed lips. Him and Yaku stare at each other for a long moment, neither of them saying a word. Technically, they do know one another, however infrequently they’ve spoken over the years and insubstantial those conversations were.

“Hello, Yaku-san,” Keiji finally says.

Yaku’s frown deepens. “Make both of us sound like old farts, why don’t you.” Keiji starts to apologize, but is waved off. “Come on in. Those two idiots of yours fell asleep on the couch.”

“But-”

“Trust me, I know.”

Keiji follows him inside, mouth flattened into a line. All three of them are supposed to meet Tsukishima at the train station in a couple hours.

Not to mention how often Kuroo and Bokuto have both complained about the size of that couch. From what he’s heard, one person can hardly fit on it, nevermind two. But stepping into the living room reveals that Yaku had been telling the truth.

Both of them have limbs splayed over the edges of the couch, making it difficult to tell where Bokuto begins and Kuroo ends. An indescribable warmth builds in his chest as he stares at them. Bokuto must have fallen asleep first, if only because he is lying on the actual couch itself. Although that is a deceptive sentiment when one of his legs is thrown over the top of the couch, his mouth open wide with his mouth tilted back.

Any space Bokuto would have left behind in filled by Kuroo, his long legs tucked between Bokuto’s and feet hanging over the armrest. At least one arm must be tucked beneath Bokuto, because Keiji can’t see it for the life of him. In no way could they be comfortable, but joining them is a difficult temptation to ignore. There is something intimate to the way Kuroo tucks his head into the crook of Bokuto’s neck, to just how close they managed to get.

It’s good that they have each other. Even if these past few months have been difficult in their own way, neither of them would have done well on their own.

This just proves that.

“Want me to wake them up for you?” Yaku asks.

Keiji starts to shake his head before Yaku finishes speaking. “I can do it.”

“Alright.” Yaku lingers there for a moment, then shakes his head and starts for the hall. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Kuroo almost seems to wake up then, only to nestle further into the side of Bokuto’s neck with a sigh.

Keiji does not need any further encouragement to pull out his phone. The moment is too soft, too precious for him to do anything other than open his camera. One picture is of the whole couch, another focused in on their faces. Something dissipates through the screen, some of the atmosphere.

But that is not the entire reason why he took them.

 _Me_ 1m ago

_*Photo attachment sent*_

_Do you think I should wake them up?_

Keiji leans back on his heels as he waits for a response, watching Bokuto and Kuroo absentmindedly. Neither of them seem any closer to waking up. They must have fallen asleep quite a while ago, if his conversation with Yaku and the pictures didn’t wake them up.

His phone vibrates and a smile crosses his face as he recognizes the name.

 _Tsukishima_ 10s ago

_what the fuck_

_you better wake them up, akaashi_

Keiji huffs, hiding a smile at the predictable response.

But then his phone vibrates one last time.

 _Tsukishima_ 15s ago

_if those fuckers think they can sleep all day when they’re supposed to be spending time with us, they have another thing coming for them._


	11. iii: Kuroo Tetsurou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful responses! I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Living with Bokuto is both everything and nothing like Tetsurou imagined it would be. 

His breath catches each morning when he wakes up to find Bokuto lying next to him, sometimes sprawled out on his back, sometimes with his head buried beneath his pillow. Tetsurou always used to wake up early, but that changes in favour of lying there, pretending to be asleep. 

Occasionally being late for class is worth it for the chance to see Bokuto so content, peaceful without a grin or a frustrated frown spread across his face. 

There are also days when Tetsurou actually wakes up late, his bed abandoned and alarm silenced. Sometimes, Yaku takes mercy on him and knocks on his door until he stumbles out. More often, he waits until they both get to practice and laughs at whatever half-assed outfit he picked off the floor that morning. 

Getting to play as a reserve catches him off guard in its entirety, especially after Bokuto doesn’t make the team at his own university. What happened is obvious as soon as Tetsurou finds Bokuto lying on their bed, uncharacteristically quiet. Wrong, a voice in the back of his head whispers, wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Then Bokuto pins him to the bed and thoughts of retribution flash through him. But that isn’t right. Not when Bokuto stares down at him with such wide eyes, the messy kiss he initiates too desperate to bode well. 

Tetsurou lets it happen.

Stopping doesn’t occur to him, not until Bokuto leans back, Tetsurou gasping at the sensation, then scrambles off the bed like the sheets are on fire. The door slams behind him and Tetsurou rolls onto his side, short of breath. He must lay there for the better part of an hour, the bathroom door firmly shut and locked when he does manage to get up. Knocking gets him no response, not until long after Tetsurou falls asleep on the couch. 

Bokuto is cooking dinner when he wakes up. Dinner, as if nothing ever happened, but they eat in silence, Yaku at the Haiba household being awkwardly introduced to Lev’s parents. Tetsurou finds himself in an empty bed that night, just barely hearing Bokuto crawl in beside him long after his usual bedtime. And then Bokuto is gone again when Tetsurou wakes up in the morning. 

Then it happens again the next night, and the night after that, until it’s almost a routine in itself. The why does not seem important, not when attempts at talking about it are met with a brick wall. Asking Bokuto about his sleep just generates cheerful obliviousness. Mentioning volleyball brings short, curt answers. Bringing up Akaashi at all makes Bokuto look like he was just slapped. Only the last one makes any sense, because Akaashi hasn’t answered a single video call of his own. 

It continues on for a week. 

A week of wondering how he should fix this. 

A week of not seeing Bokuto asleep next to him each morning, of not resisting the temptation to kiss him awake. 

Then Tetsurou wakes up to an empty bed. 

At first, that isn’t too concerning. Bokuto has been gone more mornings than he’s been there this week, and sometimes he goes to the gym in the morning, even if it’s a Saturday and neither of them have anything to do until that afternoon. 

After this past week, Bokuto disappearing to the gym for a couple hours is less than surprising. Tetsurou sighs into his pillow and rolls over, attempting to stifle his disappointment. Personal space is important, but this has been an entire week of it. Fixing this whole situation before it escalates further is more important.

An hour or two passes before Tetsurou rolls over again, light filtering in through the curtains and the air leaves his lungs entirely. The room must have been hit by a hurricane overnight. Drawers have been left open, clothes covering most of the floor. 

Tetsurou carefully pulls himself out of him. 

Clothes are missing, but the clothes Bokuto usually brings with him to the gym is at the foot of the bed. His fingers tremble as he carefully leaves the bedroom, moving through the apartment. A toothbrush is missing from the bathroom, but not the toothpaste. Shoes are gone from the front door, except the running shoes Bokuto prefers to use at the gym are still there. 

Nothing really suggests that Bokuto went to the gym at all. Tetsurou breathes in deeply, although it doesn’t help the tightness in his chest, doesn’t make it any less obvious that Bokuto just up and left. 

Tetsurou doesn’t even know where he would have gone. 

If not the gym, then Bokuto would normally tell him first. Even visiting Akaashi takes the better part of the day, and one of them would have mentioned it to him yesterday. 

Except if Bokuto were upset about something, he might have just left. Forgotten to let anyone know anything, or purposely kept it from him. Tetsurou can’t think through this properly, not when just attempting it feels like trying to swim through honey. 

Akaashi might know. 

Tetsurou turns back around, barely blinking when he almost walks into Yaku. Something is snapped at him, but the words fade from his memory as quickly as they appear. Nothing is more important than grabbing his phone from the bedside table and video calling Akaashi. 

His legs give out beneath him as he waits, the edge of the bed barely catching him. The world is numb, everything outside of his firm grip on his phone unimportant. 

Akaashi has his face half-buried in his pillow when he answers. “Kuroo?” 

“Akaashi,” Tetsurou breathes out in relief.

Thoughts of Akaashi and Bokuto running off together come to an abrupt halt just with Akaashi answering his phone. Not when it would be so simple for him to refuse to answer, like he’s done so many times this past week. 

“It’s… eight in the morning,” Akaashi points out. His voice is think with sleep, closer to a grumble than anything else. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” 

Tetsurou laughs, wincing when it comes out strangled and awkward. “Probably, maybe - I… is Bokuto there with you?” 

The screen lightens as Akaashi slowly sits up, phone abandoned on the bed. “The only person here is me, and Bokuto would be incapable of keeping quiet if he decided to visit. Why?” 

“He isn’t here,” Tetsurou admits, barely audible. 

Bokuto is not here.

Bokuto left.

Bokuto left him.

“Kuroo?” comes Akaashi’s voice from the other side of the phone. 

“He-” his voice catches in his throat, emotion quick to build, quick to consume him - “fuck, he isn’t _here_.” 

“Kuroo.” 

“It’s my fault!” Tetsurou snaps, and his knuckles are white from how tight his grip on his phone is. “He - we went further than usual, alright? Then he freaked out, but I thought it would be fine if I just gave him some room. Which was obviously wrong!” 

“Kuroo,” Akaashi repeats, but Tetsurou can’t bring himself to look at him. 

His eyes squeeze shut, if only to prevent himself from seeing that inevitable accusation. “And now you’ll tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed him so far. That Bo needs to be ready and knows he’s ready. You’d even be right too!” 

“I wouldn’t say that, no.” 

Tetsurou slowly blinks his eyes open, his stomach dropping out as he looks at Akaashi properly for the first time all week. 

An awkward grimace is given to him, the reason for Tetsurou’s protests dying off obvious. That would not be anything else, not when a dark red fills in the space beneath one of his eyes, the bruise as obvious as could be. Which raises more questions than Tetsurou was honestly prepared to deal with this morning. There had to be a reason behind Akaashi avoiding video calls, but this is not the reason he expected. 

“Bokuto is not particularly self-aware,” Akaashi says, before Tetsurou can bring himself to say a word. “I can almost guarantee that his obliviousness extends to this, as well.” 

“Oh.”

The grimace fades from sight, everything that Tetsurou assumed still off-kilter and strange. “However, he is still missing, isn’t he?” 

“He is,” Tetsurou quietly answers. “You sure he’s not at your place?” 

“One moment.” 

Tetsurou hums as Akaashi shifts again, the camera now directed up at the ceiling. The faint sound of him moving around comes in through the line, but Tetsurou is much too distracted by thoughts of Bokuto and Akaashi alike to pay much attention. All he wants is one explanation that doesn’t bring more questions with it. 

The camera moving draws his attention again, a small frown decorating Akaashi’s face. “He doesn’t appear to be, no.” 

“I… don’t really know where else he could be,” Tetsurou admits, his gaze dropping. 

His admission feels like a betrayal in itself. 

Tetsurou should know exactly where Bokuto would go, where he might disappear to in the middle of the night when he’s feeling upset and not quite right. Him being with Akaashi felt like the obvious option within all that. And he should go to Bokuto’s university after this to make sure he isn’t holed up in the gymnasium, practicing his serves alone.

That is more of a plan than he had a few minutes ago. Which is something he can do, even if it doesn’t help anything in the end. None of this feels right to begin with. 

Akaashi sighs, defeated. “Neither do I.” 

That isn’t what Tetsurou wanted to hear. 

“I’m certain it will be fine, though,” Akaashi rushes to say. “Bokuto may not be too aware of his surroundings, but he can take care of himself.” 

Tetsurou pulls his hand through his hair with a sigh. “You’re right.” 

Neither of them speak, the silence sharing in their own contemplations. Of where Bokuto could be, of how Tetsurou could have let this happen. 

His gaze flickers back to Akaashi’s black eye, now dulled by the bad lighting in his room. That most definitely had not been there the last time they saw each other. And he would have remembered if Akaashi told him about getting a black eye. Those are the sorts of things that are difficult to forget. 

“How did-” 

Akaashi looks away from the camera, his hand lifting into view for a brief moment before disappearing again. “One of my classmates was speaking poorly of Bokuto.” 

That pulls a laugh from Tetsurou, loud and surprised. “So, you, what, started a fight for Bokuto’s honour?” 

“I suppose I did, yes.”

His laughter fades to a chuckle and he grins, despite himself. “That’s great, you know. All I can picture is the look on Bo’s face when he finds out. He’ll be so touched.” 

“I… realize this,” Akaashi says, suddenly hesitant. Which is far from the reaction Tetsurou expected, but Akaashi does look more relaxed than he did at the beginning of their conversation. “I do plan on telling him eventually.” 

Tetsurou stares at the screen for a long moment, his eyebrows pinched together. Eventually is not the same as soon. “Yeah, I trust you on that. I’m going to go check a few places, alright? Just to make sure he didn’t get lost or something. I’ll keep you updated.” 

“Of course.”

He hesitates a moment, then hangs up.

The first thing Tetsurou does after that is phone Bokuto. 

Bokuto does not pick up. Not the first time Tetsurou calls him, or the second time or the third. A couple quick texts are sent, consisting of little more than asking Bokuto where he is and to answer his phone, just in case he reads those when the calls were ignored. 

Disappointment comes crashing in when all Tetsurou gets is radio silence, the static of someone pressing decline on his calls but not explaining why. It almost makes him roam mindlessly through Tokyo, instead of mapping out the places where Bokuto is most likely to be. But he does that, and sends a couple texts to Kenma and Tsukishima while he sits on the train. Kenma, to ask for advice, and Tsukishima, because he deserves to know that Bokuto disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Stopping at Bokuto’s favourite gym reveals nothing, not a single head of spiked among the people on treadmills and lifting weights. Tetsurou drifts towards Bokuto’s university from there, stopping in at the gymnasium, but that just ends with him exchanging a few choice insults with some pretty boy who seems to know Bokuto. 

The text from Tsukishima comes around the time he starts making his way to the various coffee shops and restaurants Bokuto likes. Tsukishima is generally straight to the point, but this time, Tetsurou has to scroll to the bottom of a paragraph to find the reason behind it.

Due to some impulsive decision, Bokuto is in Miyagi, visiting Tsukishima.

Tetsurou leans against the cold concrete of a building as that knowledge sweeps over him. Bokuto is in Miyagi. Bokuto will be home tomorrow, after him and Tsukishima spend some time together. His legs nearly give out beneath him as he types back a heartfelt thank you.

All it takes is one guilty-looking frown from Bokuto, and Tetsurou pulls him into a tight hug. It is far from the first time he appreciates the weight of his soulmate against him, firm and broad, but there is nothing he needs more. Not when his nerves are all frayed at the edges, not when they’ve been that way for over a week. But he appreciates the easy way Bokuto hugs him back more.

.

.

.

Things shift more than they change after Bokuto comes back from Miyagi. Not that either of them talk about why Bokuto went there in the first place.

Tetsurou can’t bring himself to say anything when Bokuto grins at him the next morning, like the sun peaking out over the horizon as he points out his newly-changed Mark. The Mark Bokuto shares with Tsukishima, the oval placed inside a circle now shaded in a dark gray. When Bokuto talks like that, all rambling excitement over all three of his Marks, there is no deny how much he cares. 

What changes is how Tetsurou reacts to him. He tries to meet each anecdote with a smile, tries to let his fingers brush against Bokuto instead of push, tries to show that whatever Bokuto wants is also what he wants. A silent conversation, one that Bokuto may or may not pick up on, is his way of trying to make things better. Of trying to make sure things don’t get to the point of Bokuto leaving in the middle of the night again. 

But there is so much Tetsurou does not understand. He can grin and tease and smirk, can be relieved when Bokuto reacts to him like he always has. Only the earth may as well be shaking beneath his feet, ready to split open and take everything he cares about if he unknowingly missteps. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

Tetsurou rolls his eyes, hands shoved into his pockets. “And I’m sure you have all the answers.” 

Kenma continues down the street as if Tetsurou never said a word. Someone passes them from behind, but Kenma keeps his gaze focused forwards, even as his lips twitch to the side like they always do when he thinks Tetsurou is wrong.

If this is what Tetsurou gets for visiting Kenma at practice, then he just won’t bother from here on out. Nevermind that his mother would drive all the way to the city and murder him if he didn’t show up for dinner every few weeks or so. Nevermind that Kenma would be even more of a grumpy kitten if he didn’t visit. It might take him a month to notice, but he would notice.

“Koutarou doesn’t understand it himself, I think,” Kenma says, after a long moment. 

“He doesn’t-” Tetsurou lets out a deep breath as he picks that sentiment apart. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Kenma, but, well, he doesn’t. “What exactly do you think Bo doesn’t understand?” 

“Hm.” 

“Kenma.” 

Those sharp, amber eyes flicker towards him, not a single thing given away. “You should talk to Koutarou about it?” 

“Kenma,” Tetsurou repeats, this time almost mocking, “that’s not-” 

“How things work between you and Koutarou?” 

Tetsurou stops, then picks up his pace again when Kenma continues across the street with hardly a glance down the street. “You’re a dick, you know that?” 

“You always say that,” Kenma counters.

“Because it’s true.” 

Kenma hums, unaffected by the accusation. It isn’t as if either of them can deny it, not when they’ve known each other for longer than they’ve known anyone else, right after their parents.

Tetsurou does roll his eyes, though. Regardless of how long they’ve known each other, his point still stands. Kenma is, in fact, a dick who would rather see him flail around, attempting and failing to figure things out for himself, than offer useful advice for even a moment. This happened when he was figuring out his personal time difference attack, when he first met Akaashi. Particularly anytime that he’s asked Kenma for advice of any sort. 

“If you already know that I’m not going to talk to Bo about it, then why not just explain it to me yourself?” Tetsurou groans. 

The road curves a bit, just a handful of meters before their street comes into view. 

Back in high school, the short distance between their house and Nekoma was a blessing. Practice was always after school, and his legs would already be aching from the time on the court. 

His legs still ache from volleyball. But right now, the close proximity is not so appreciated. All it will take is Tetsurou stepping into the Kenma household and the entire conversation will change. Kenma will bring up the team, Tetsurou will comment on how well he’s been doing as captain. Then Kenma’s mother will make some cryptic comment that will haunt him for the rest of the day, before mentioning the snack in the kitchen. 

Tetsurou needs a few extra minutes to pry more information from Kenma, whatever insight he’s hiding away in that head of his. Anything would help him understand what’s been going through Bokuto’s head. 

Actually, Kenma has accurate insights into most things. 

“Have you told Koutarou that you want to have sex with him yet?” 

His mind putters to a firm stop, mouth agape and feet frozen in place.

“You should,” Kenma adds, after a beat of silence. 

“Can we _not_ -”

“Why?” 

“Because you - me having - I just am not talking about this with you, alright?” Tetsurou hisses, waving his hands around in every which direction. 

Kenma is not suitably distracted.

Nor does he seem convinced by his flailing to stop talking about his sex life. Nevermind that Tetsurou would willing enter a conversation about sex with almost anyone else before talking about it with Kenma. Anything is better than having this conversation with the guy who continuously scrunched up his nose in disgust whenever Tetsurou gushed about Bokuto’s arms or Akaashi’s back or… well, a lot of things about the three of them.

Kenma carefully watches him from the corner of his eye. “I know what sex is, Tetsurou.” 

“What does-” 

“Shouyou and I talk about it from time to time,” he finishes, mercilessly. 

Tetsurou groans, pained from the admission. “I swear if you don’t stop talking about sex, I will throw your game into the toilet.” 

“He has a lot of questions. I try to answer them, when I can.”

That is the last straw. 

One last comment, before Tetsurou starts sprinting down the street, taking the easy turn towards Kenma’s house.

.

.

.

Volleyball season creeps up on him as soon as he gets back from visiting his parents and Kenma. Training increases without warning, just an offhand comment from the coach about remembering to show up the next morning.

On a day they don’t usually have morning practice. 

Sometimes, they even end up with practice twice a day, although those sessions tend to be shorter. Classes don’t get him out of anything either. The coach has a copy of everyone’s schedules and structures their practices around that, his request that they inform him of other obligations more of an order. Tetsurou almost respects him for having thought of all that. Except that requires more energy than he has. 

Just collapsing onto Bokuto some night is difficult, his legs aching from the increased practice. He had been doing a lot before then, runs and studying and classes themselves all coming together in a messy heap. This is worse. Any attempts at mentioning it to Bokuto stop entirely after the first time Bokuto looks away from him, biting at the inside of his cheek. There isn’t even the time to bring up Kenma’s suggestion. 

His conversations with Akaashi are another situation, of course. Tetsurou is usually walking home just as Akaashi gets off his train, so they phone each other, especially after the first of his games. 

Those few minutes of murmured conversation remind him to keep going, that playing volleyball like this is worth it. Different from the sleepy moments of wonder Bokuto inspires in him each morning, but both take his breath away and leave him wondering how he deserves all this.

“Tsukishima and I were talking this morning,” Akaashi mentions, one such evening. 

Tetsurou pauses, absentmindedly stepping out of someone’s way. “You… and Tsukki?” 

“Yes.” Akaashi hesitates, then continues on with a hasty explanation, “We’ve been talking more often since our practice match a couple months ago.” 

“Good. I mean - you guys should talk, you know? It’s nice to know that he’s reaching out to one of us.” His voice is quiet, the words struggling to come out, all expected with how his head spins at the revelation.

It isn’t a lie.

Tsukishima should feel comfortable enough to talk to one of them, even if it isn’t all of them. If that person happens to be Akaashi, then that is just the way it will go down. Nothing to worry over. 

But a part of him still feels excluded from something special. That is stupid, Tetsurou knows that much. His relationship with Akaashi is different from his relationship with Bokuto, just as both are different from his tenuous bond with Tsukishima. Even these conversations with Akaashi point to how stupid it is. They all deserve to have something special with each other, even if Tetsurou isn’t directly involved himself. 

Knowing that is different from feeling that, though. An uncomfortable twist settles in the corner of his mouth as he turns down a street, the path home long-since memorized. 

“Kuroo,” comes Akaashi’s voice after a heartbeat, his name drawn out and exasperated, “Tsukishima and I were discussing how it would be nice to see you over summer break.”

Oh. 

Tetsurou hopes his laughter doesn’t sound as relieved as he thinks it does. 

But Akaashi doesn’t stop there. “We were thinking we might stay with you and Bokuto for a couple nights, if that’s alright with you.” 

“Of course it is,” Tetsurou quickly answers. 

“Alright, then.” 

“It’ll be great.” 

“I believe it will be, yes.” 

“Seeing you guys will-” 

Akaashi sighs, his small smile almost audible over the line. “Kuroo, go talk to Bokuto. Then all of us can make concrete plans, so that this will be as great as it can be.” 

Tetsurou laughs again, the sound pulled out of him before he hangs up. The rest of his walk home passes in a blur, the exhaustion lifting from his shoulders as if it had never been there to begin with. 

There is another hour or so left before Bokuto gets home, but resisting the temptation to call him as soon as he steps into their apartment is worth it. Otherwise, Tetsurou wouldn’t see the way Bokuto brightens at the suggestion. A quick, hard kiss is pressed to his lips before Bokuto scrambles for his phone, everything else forgotten. By the time Tetsurou pulls through the shock of the kiss, Akaashi’s voice is already echoing through the living room, joined by Tsukishima a couple moments later.

Figuring out the details from there is surprisingly easy. Tetsurou knows that both his parents and Bokuto’s want them to come visit, but there are a few days where none of them have practice or training camps or any other obligations. And no one sounds likely to drop out of their plans, not even Tsukishima. 

Being able to look forward to something changes everything. Well, maybe not his exhaustion from practice or where things stand between him and Bokuto, but it is a stark reminder of how much he cares. About his soulmates, about playing volleyball, about every little consideration he let fall to the wayside. 

All of it matters. 

He isn’t the only one thrilled at the reminder either. A whispered “soon” marks his nights with Bokuto, before he wakes up to a countdown until they see Akaashi and Tsukishima. Text messages throughout the day lay out miniscule plans, even when Tsukishima just replies with a sarcastic suggestion that becomes reality. Bokuto just about agrees to flying to Australia, before Akaashi reminds him that none of them have the time or the money for that. 

Perhaps that makes it more surprising when the day Akaashi and Tsukishima comes around, and Tetsurou turns around after finishing the dishes from breakfast to find Bokuto asleep on the couch. The temptation is too much to ignore. An hour of napping will only make up for them waking up long before they had to.

Tetsurou tucks the dishcloth away, and crawls on top of his boyfriend, laughing lightly at the way Bokuto just smiles in his sleep. Today is the day, he thinks to himself as he turns his head into Bokuto’s neck. Today, they get to see Akaashi and Tsukishima. 

He’s asleep within minutes. 

“They’ve… just been lying there since you got here?” comes a murmur, just beyond the edge of his awareness.

A low hum of agreement follows. “Yaku said they fell asleep sometime after breakfast.” 

“But that-” 

“Was hours ago? Yes, I believe Bokuto sent you the same picture he sent me.” 

Tetsurou frowns at the words. Bokuto never sent him any pictures, which really does not seem fair, in his opinion. All of the blurry pictures and bird memes Bokuto likes should also be sent to him. 

Moving first would probably be for the best, though. His arms feel like they could seize up at any moment with the awkward angle they’re at. And his neck was not meant to turn like this, regardless of how warm and comfortable everything else feels. If only moving required much less effort than it does. 

A snort reminds him of the other people in the room. “You should have just woken them up when you got here.” 

“Perhaps,” comes a hesitant reply. “But neither of them have gotten much sleep recently, particularly Kuroo. Bokuto was telling me how frequently he has to go to practice, even just as a reserve, on top of how much studying he did for his midterms.” 

“They could have slept tonight.” 

His frown grows. 

Things have been a bit rough lately, but not quite that bad. Difficult exams are normal at this point in his degree, anyways, because his program tries to weed out anyone who won’t be able to keep up later on. If he put in a bit more effort than absolutely necessary, no one would blame him for that.

“I’m not that tired,” he interjects, lips brushing against Bokuto’s neck. 

Judging by the inhale that follows, Bokuto isn’t nearly as asleep as he’s pretending to be. 

Tetsurou slowly opens his eyes, a grin replacing his exhaustion as he spots the other two people in the room. Neither of their faces are visible from this angle, but he recognizes their legs easily enough. They’ve starred in his dreams enough times for him to pick them out just about anywhere. 

Both of them are his soulmates, both of them have Marks that respond to him. That react to how he feels about them, each miniscule change enough to put him in a good mood for weeks at a time. Imagining a world where he would have to stumble upon them, without knowing what they mean to him, is incomprehensible. Meeting Bokuto might have been the start of a friendship, but it wouldn’t have come so easily to either of them. And yet, with Bokuto and Akaashi, it might have been the other way around.

He brushes off the stray thought and reaches out his hand, wanting something, anything. 

As if reading his mind, Tsukishima snorts and kneels down, resting his chin on one hand. “You aren’t? Because I thought you were too tired to get up, but now it sounds like you’re too useless to.”

“You could join us,” Tetsurou counters with a smirk.

Bokuto stifles a laugh from beneath him. 

There is no way Akaashi and Tsukishima think he’s still asleep. Even Tetsurou can see the grin spread across his face, can tell how thrilled he is by this entire conversation. 

“On that?” Tsukishima asks, his tone the very definition of skeptical. “Is it even intact?” 

Tetsurou shifts to the side slightly, and the coach squeaks with the movement. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself, won’t you?” 

“Or both of you could get up and we can go out for dinner, like we planned,” Akaashi cuts in. 

“Dinner?” 

Tetsurou is left to flail as Bokuto attempts to sit up beneath him, abruptly lacking anything solid to hold onto. Which is exactly what he gets for teasing them so obviously. 

He carefully rolls towards Bokuto’s feet before there is another attempt to get up. That bit of space is all it takes for Bokuto to leap up to his feet, pausing only to beam at Akaashi and Tsukishima before practically bouncing towards their bedroom. His muscles protest as he sits up properly, the afternoon sun warming the back of his neck. Maybe he had been more tired than he thought he was, after all.   
Then Tetsurou pulls himself off the coach entirely, offering a smile to other two people in the room. “Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself,” Tsukishima mutters as he slowly stands up as well. 

“I see you found your way here even without our help.” 

Tsukishima glances away, the expression on his face complicated enough that Tetsurou can’t put a name to the emotion there. “Only because Akaashi came to help.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“You are,” Tetsurou agrees. 

Tsukishima watches him carefully, but Tetsurou does nothing to push his boundaries. There are too many chances to misstep when Tsukishima’s mood is so unclear to him, when there is every chance of accidentally making this worse. 

That Tsukishima is here at all is something to be amazed at, that he suggested this all to begin with a mystery that Tetsurou marvels at. It is certainly enough to make him smile, as content as he can be. 

But Akaashi is a person whose boundaries he knows well, who will welcome almost every greeting Tetsurou has to give. What is better than stepping forward to melt into a brief kiss is beyond him. Especially when Akaashi looks up at him through thick eyelashes, his amusement shining through, even as their lips linger in place for a beat longer than necessary. I missed you, is what Akaashi seems to say, all without actually saying a word. Tetsurou softens and kisses him a second time, before following Bokuto to go get changed.

.

.

.

Dinner is a lot better than expected, if Tetsurou is being honest with himself.

Him and Bokuto start in on the jokes before they even get to the restaurant, equal parts genuine enthusiasm and snarky teasing. Getting caught up in the moment is simple, even if he shouldn’t. But the anticipation from the past few weeks keeps bubbling up, no amount of restraint capable of holding it in now that Akaashi and Tsukishima are here. 

Akaashi responds well to it, as he always does. A couple dead-pan snipes catch him off-guard, pulling a shocked laugh from him before the words themselves register. If nothing else, the way Bokuto sputters through a frantic answer is worth his amused happiness. 

More surprising is how easily Tsukishima seems to join in. The first time it happens, the three of them fall silent at the same moment, his jaw falling open in amazement. Bokuto manages to pull the conversation forward after that, right before Tsukishima’s mood starts to sour. Joy rolls off of him in waves, joy that is easy to get caught up in. It’s hard to tell which one of them Tetsurou wants to gather up in his arms and spin around the most.

The answer is certainly all of them. Half of dinner is spent imagining how Bokuto would laugh in his ear, how Akaashi would grip tightly at his shoulders, how Tsukishima would demand to be let down. Dinner itself is delicious, but Tetsurou honestly could not say what he ordered just minutes after they leave. 

Things turn awkward once they reach the apartment. 

Yaku is gone, annoyed grumbling from the last couple days about his parents wanting him to visit just now coming to mind. Which means that they’re well and truly alone for the first time. No fear of someone walking in on them, no thoughts in the back of his mind about how nice it would be if all of them were together. 

Bokuto goes through the motions of pulling up a movie on his laptop, mumbling about how certain he is that all of them will love it. That smooths things over as much as it can, even if Bokuto doesn’t realize it himself. 

There is a new dynamic present, not just brought around by Tsukishima’s presence. Touching Bokuto is simple. A hand on his hip or an arm around his shoulders, and Tetsurou is at home. Neither of them has had any difficulty in crossing that distance, at least outside of their bedroom. Things because more complicated with Akaashi, but only because Akaashi prefers to initiate physical contact himself. 

None of that accounts for the careful distance between him and Tsukishima when they settle in on the couch. It shouldn’t be possible for their legs not to touch, not with all four of them piled on their shitty couch. 

Bokuto falls asleep again halfway through the movie, unsurprisingly. Each day of their break has started with Bokuto at the gym, training for the vaguest chance of him becoming a regular for the next tournament. Some guy named Oikawa joins him more often than not, although whether that’s a good thing has yet to be determined. Both of them seem to have the same tendency to work harder than they necessarily should, only pushing one another to take it an extra step further.

If Bokuto weren’t so broken up about not getting on the team, it would be fine. 

Tetsurou lets him slump onto his lap, one hand absentmindedly running through thick hair. Waking him up would be cruel, after all. And the warmth curled into his side makes it easy to ignore the complete lack of contact on his other side. 

The realization that Akaashi is also asleep comes sometime during the latter half of the movie. Tetsurou sighs and closes the laptop, a sleepy mumble coming from his side. Only Akaashi isn’t suddenly awake, just talking to himself in his sleep, curled against the armrest. 

“Really, you guys?” Tetsurou sighs. 

“You were close to falling asleep too,” comes a unexpected snipe from his other side. 

“I may or may not have been dozing.” He eases himself out from underneath Bokuto, the edges of his lips pulled upwards when Bokuto turns into the warmth left behind. “It’s different.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Dozing, I will have you know, does not mean I wasn’t paying attention. I could summarize the entire movie, if you wanted me to,” he says, easily. 

“Because you’ve seen it before.” 

Tetsurou pauses and turns slightly to look at Tsukishima properly. “Oh?” 

He has seen this particular movie before - regardless of Bokuto’s good intentions, it is one of his favourites. Which means a lot more hours than most would think necessary watching the same plot, the same actors, the same dialogue. But there’s no reason Tsukishima would know something like that.

“Obviously,” Tsukishima mutters, his gaze dropping away. “You only paid attention to the parts you liked. Did you think randomly forcing yourself awake made you subtle.” 

“Actually, I missed my favourite part of the whole movie,” Tetsurou counters.

“Too bad for you, then.” 

Tsukishima meets his gaze again, a silent challenge to push it further visible, even in the dark room. Only Tetsurou already knows who won this little exchange, knows that there’s no reason to push it further. 

He smiles, a far cry from the smirk he intends. Only Tsukishima would start to relax after a bit of verbal sparring, even as light as that had been. His smile fades when he looks at the other two, still fast asleep, and he exhales, almost laughing. Leave it to Bokuto and Akaashi to miss out on bonding with Tsukishima, because they’ve worked themselves too hard.

“You planning on sleeping out here?” he asks, carefully. 

Tsukishima is suddenly pulled tight, all that tension back again. “As soon as you wake Akaashi and Bokuto up.” 

As soon as all of you leave me alone, is what hangs beneath that statement. With anyone else, Tetsurou would wonder where such brutal pessimism came from, would question just what happened to make Tsukishima so distrustful of their intentions. 

Tetsurou does not know the answer to those questions, but knowing how Tsukishima reacts to each of them, he’s made his guesses. Someone must have hurt him. Someone must have convinced him that the world was unkind, that not having Marks was simply the easier route for someone like him. Which is about as far from how Kenma described not having a Mark as could be. 

“Wake them up?” Tetsurou forces a laugh. “They could sleep through a hurricane at this point, only to be confused when they wake up floating down the street.”

“Then-” 

“We’re not carrying them either. Bo weighs as much as a small elephant, even on days when he doesn’t consume twice that in food.” 

Tsukishima scowls as if Tetsurou just took his favourite toy away. 

Tetsurou sighs, bravado fading. “I don’t want to put you in Yaku’s room, because I don’t know when he’ll be back. But I promise to stay on my side of the bed, safely away from you.” 

“And?” 

“We changed the sheets last night?” he guesses. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, the sentiment obvious even without the ability to see it properly. But then he stands up and motions for Tetsurou to lead the way.

Both of them get ready in relative silence, easily taking turns between the bathroom and bedroom. Getting ready for bed with Tsukishima isn’t all that different than it is with Bokuto, just without the few problems him and Bokuto had when they first moved in. Nothing better to introduce him to the joys of living with other people than realizing they both like bathing at the same time every day. 

Then the bedroom door closes behind Tetsurou one last time, and they both pause in a silent standoff. A standoff that would be far more intimidating if Tsukishima weren’t wearing pajamas covered in dinosaur print. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Tsukishima tempts him, his voice low. 

“But, Tsukki-” 

“I haven’t said anything about that stupid shirt of yours, have I?” 

Tetsurou hesitates and looks down at his shirt with a frown. “What’s wrong with cats?” 

“It’s just so stereotypically you that no one would believe it.” 

“Who cares? I appreciate both of our choices in pajamas, honestly,” he says.

Tsukishima stops. 

Out of everything that could make Tsukishima rethink his life, naturally it would be this. A small declaration that Tetsurou likes his pajamas, as if he would do anything else, teasing notwithstanding. With Kenma, with Bokuto and Akaashi, knowing what to say is second nature. But the strangest things seem to set Tsukishima off, things that he would never consider contemplating. 

Tetsurou very purposely says nothing as he turns off the bedroom light and walks towards the bed, acting mostly on routine. The spot right next to the wall is where Bokuto sleeps, but he settles in there and waits.

It takes a few minutes for Tsukishima to do anything. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkened room, barely catching the moment before Tsukishima inhales sharply and steps towards the bed. The blankets are mostly pulled back, which makes this so much smoother for both of them. Having Tsukishima struggle with the blankets now would probably set them back an entire year, right back to those sparse conversations during last year’s summer camps. Back to those months where talking to Tsukishima felt like pulling out teeth.

When Tsukishima does lie down properly, he does so facing Tetsurou. There can’t be more than a couple dozen centimetres between them, almost nothing in how simple it would be to cross.

They both lay there for a long time, as Tetsurou tries to make out the lines of Tsukishima’s face. Then a muffled snore echoes from the living room and he laughs, despite himself. It could only be Akaashi. Regardless of the circumstances, Tetsurou has never once heard Bokuto snore. 

But the laugh dies in the back of his throat as he meets Tsukishima’s eyes, eyebrows furrowed together. That makes the shadows around face more intense than they had been before, almost predatory with only the faintest bit of light shining in from outside. And yet, Tsukishima without glasses is a sight that turns his mouth dry. 

“Can I touch you?” 

His breath catches at the words, at the realization that they came from his own mouth. That realization would have never come if it Tsukishima weren’t frozen in place, neither retreating or leading the charge. 

It is as far from the definite yes that Tetsurou craves as can be. 

Then Tsukishima slowly exhales, tension draining from his shoulders. “Why?” 

“Why?” The exasperation pours out without regard for the situation, but Tetsurou quickly composes himself. “Is wanting to not good enough for you?” 

“Then you don’t have to ask.” 

Tetsurou stares at him, allowing the dismissive reply to wash over him. “Yeah,” he counters, as softly as he dares, “I think I do.” 

“You’re so-”

“Tsukishima, I’m not doing anything you don’t want me to do.” 

Tsukishima moves. 

And groans, the sound firmly planted in Tetsurou’s head as his shoulders are pushed against the bed, thighs straddling his hips. 

This positioning could only remind him of Bokuto, of being pinned down and filled with heat on this very bed. Just the once, only the once, but the situations are still so different. Bokuto and Tsukishima approach this from angles as different as their personalities. 

Tsukishima tilts his head up, just a glimpse of a smirk visible through the shadows, then quite purposely shifts his hips down. That alone is enough to bring Tetsurou to an exasperated awareness, a low heat simmering in his veins. These past few months of living with Bokuto have been long in their own way. But then Tsukishima’s gaze shutters, like curtains closing to a window Tetsurou hadn’t even noticed. 

“This isn’t what I meant,” he says, lowly. 

A huff, perhaps followed by a roll of the eyes that Tetsurou can’t see, is his response. “Uh-huh.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“Then what did you mean?” 

Except Tetsurou is already moving, reaching up to pull Tsukishima down until there are only a handful of centimetres between them. The angle is awkward with Tsukishima straddling his hips, but Tetsurou shifts up to meet him. Close enough to feel breath against his lips, to see individual eyelashes, to count the rushed heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

Then he drops down to the bed, only satisfied by tugging Tsukishima along with him. Neither of them could be further from tired, even at this hour, but Tetsurou easily relaxes into the soft mattress beneath him. Mix a good pillow and bed with the warmth of another person, and one gets a particularly tempting sleep aid, in his own opinion. Not that Tsukishima seems to agree, stiff even as he keeps his head against the side of Tetsurou’s neck. 

“See?” he murmurs. “Like this.” 

“I don’t-” 

“All I want is to have a nice, long cuddle,” he says, slow and purposeful. 

Tsukishima gradually relaxes against him, shifting so that he’s no longer straddling him. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

The following exhale could almost be mistaken for a laugh, close enough to make Tetsurou wonder, at any rate. Then Tsukishima move again, this time propping himself up on his elbow.

Their eyes meet, but Tsukishima no longer looks guarded as he had a few minutes ago, not even as guarded as he was this afternoon. His heart beats a pattern into his ribcage as he waits. This is not the sort of thing, lacking the air of invulnerability and tendency to deflect, Tetsurou has grown to expect from him. Rather, it is closer to what he hoped their relationship would be like, ever since the start. Since he first found out about Marks and soulmates and everything else that goes along with it.

Being gently kissed like that is not a surprise, it couldn’t be with how clearly Tsukishima makes his intentions clear by leaning in so slowly. As if Tetsurou could do anything other than meet him halfway, sighing into the kiss. It only seems right that Tsukishima smirks at him after pulling away, but no biting remark comes before they both settle back into place. Stupor-inducing, all the way around, and perhaps Tsukishima should have considered that before waiting so long to kiss him.

.

.

.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Tetsurou rolls his eyes, one part exasperated and three parts dramatic. “And you didn’t have to become Nekoma’s captain.” 

The narrow look Kenma gives him from the other side of the table is almost dangerous, but there are no further protests.

Which is exactly why Tetsurou decided to bring Kenma out for lunch, instead of cooking for the two of them or just hanging around somewhere more private. Part of the reason, at least. The other part is that Lev has not left their apartment in several days, regardless of how much or, more accurately, how little Yaku says to him. 

Putting Kenma and Lev in the same room for an extended period of time would be amusing, but, given that Kenma wouldn’t see the amusement in it, it wouldn’t be much of a celebration. Neither does this, for that matter, even though Tetsurou is spending good money on it. Good money that will not be replaced until sometime next month, when his mother deems him worthy enough to get his allowance. 

They’re undoubtedly going to have this entire argument over again, when Tetsurou forcibly pays for the bill himself. All for the sake of Kenma knowing that getting into so far at the Inter High tournament is a good thing. Oh, the things Tetsurou does to make sure his friends are properly appreciated. 

“So,” he starts, just as Kenma’s fingers start to twitch towards his pocket. Right where his gaming console has undoubtedly been hidden away since this morning. “Have any plans for next year yet?”

“Do you?” Kenma fires back.

“Well, one of my advisors says I can start looking for work as a research assistant,” he says, casually.

Kenma watches him carefully, mood souring further. Likely hoping that Tetsurou will drop the subject as the threat of getting swiped across the face grows with each passing second. Maybe that would have worked a couple months ago. Back before Tetsurou first started nudging him towards this subject in previous conversations, only to be pushed back against with increasing stubbornness. 

It would be fine if Kenma would just tell him what he intends to do after this year. Then Tetsurou could drop the subject entirely. Things like universities and jobs are important, and also a source of stress for Kenma.

Tetsurou does back off for the moment, though, as he reads the situation in front of him. “The team isn’t giving you too much trouble, is it?” 

“Should they be?” comes the expected counter.

“No, but with the latest Battle at the Garbage Dump…”

The eye roll Tetsurou gets for his concern is almost invisible, just a brief glance towards the ceiling before Kenma appears as straight-faced as ever. Something must have really pissed him off before he got to lunch. Something more than the harmless teasing Tetsurou had engaged in last weekend. 

Their conversation don’t usually start out on a sour note like this one. They are both fairly good at diffusing situations, when they want to. 

And if Tetsurou is still frustrated from last month, then he is not going to talk to Kenma about it. Not after sharing a bed with Tsukishima, then all three of his soulmates the night after that. Of everyone in the world, Kenma is the last one who needs to know he wakes up most mornings, feeling like he’s started puberty all over again. Bokuto’s genuine obliviousness to it all is bad enough.

“Oh.” 

Tetsurou pauses. “Oh?” 

“They’ve been fine.” 

Fine is an odd word, given that Kenma suddenly won’t look at him at all. And when the ‘they’ in question doesn’t seem to refer to the team. Which only brings up further questions of who Kenma feels is important enough to mention to him. 

“Uh-huh. And I’m sure all of them decided to stick around for Spring High too,” he says, lightly. 

Kenma’s hands settle in his pockets, but don’t immediately pull out the last line of defense. “That was never an issue.” 

“No? Nekoma consists almost entirely of third years, doesn’t it?” 

“But-” 

A scowl immediately breaks out across Kenma’s face as he cuts himself off. 

Tetsurou allows himself to smirk, no longer bothering to hide it. Hiding things from Kenma never works out for anyone, even if asking directly will just make it worse. The usual method is to wait it out until Kenma lets something slip, either on purpose or accidentally, then take it from there. It’s more effective than other ways of trying to get Kenma to talk. 

It does require a touch more patience than Tetsurou has right now, though. The patience of a thousand years, once Kenma catches onto his intentions. Painfully stubborn is a trait they share, at the end of the day.  
“Shouyou and Tsutomu don’t graduate until next year,” Kenma murmurs, his gaze narrow. Waiting for Tetsurou to question him further. 

Tetsurou pauses, briefly caught off guard. His smirk takes a different shade though, one far more teasing than predatory. “Hinata certainly isn’t someone I could forget, but…”

“Tsutomu is a student at Shiratorizawa.” Kenma grimaces, as if the very act of speaking is a torture he would rather avoid. “Him and Shouyou are close.” 

Close in a way that Kenma and Hinata are not, judging by the particular expression Kenma is wearing. All scrunched up, the same expression Kenma wears when he doesn’t expect someone to act in a certain way, even more so when he has experience with it.

“So, you’re waiting for them to graduate before spreading your own wings,” Tetsurou says, lightly.

“No.” 

“Those two must always be in flight, though.” 

Kenma’s scowl grows. “Tetsurou.” 

“C’mon, you can’t expect me to pass up this opportunity.” 

“I do.”

“But those two must be birds of a feather.” 

“I’m leaving.” 

Tetsurou’s laughter rings out through the small restaurant as he grins. “No, no, stay. I’ll stop. For now.” He watches Kenma for a long moment. There is so much he must have missed over these last few months, things that he didn’t even think to ask about. “I’m glad you found these guys, though.” 

Just like that, the frustration dwindles away to nothing, leaving Kenma oddly pensive with his shoulders hunched forward. “Me too.”


	12. iii: Tsukishima Kei

“Can’t stand to be in the presence of the king today?” Kei taunts. 

Hinata glares at him, as if just this much comes unexpected. “He kicks in his sleep.”

“Right, because you certainly cared about that before.” 

“Just - ugh.” 

Kei turns back to the window and hides a snicker at Tanaka sprinting for the bus. Being a third year has done nothing for his punctuality. Or his fashion sense, if his shirt actually is on backwards. 

A more tempting target at the moment is Hinata, though, who has easily seated himself down beside Kei. It is more than just idle consideration, but the desire to make sure Tanaka gets stuck sitting beside Kageyama, the notorious sleep-kicker, wins out. Also, kicking Hinata out would require more energy than he has before the sun has come up over the horizon. Something that may very well change after Akaashi texts him to say he’s on his way to Nekoma.

Hinata watches him suspiciously, only relaxing when Ukai starts off with his usual motivational speech. A couple first years are paying him rapt attention, but most everyone else seems to nod off before it’s over. Kei just rests his head against the window and tunes out the words. The speech hasn’t changed much over the last year. 

If only Kei were like Yamaguchi, currently sprawled out on the seat across the aisle. Yamaguchi, who has been fast asleep since he clambered onto the bus nearly twenty minutes ago. This would be the perfect opportunity to sleep, after all. Akaashi won’t send him that text for at least another hour, and the entirety of the bus falls silent by the time they drive out of Sendai. Homework isn’t even a priority, not with the entire summer left to complete it.

Yet, his fingers won’t stop tapping against his thigh, the rest of him still. 

“Are you… okay?” Hinata asks, the scrunch of his nose nearly audible. 

Kei rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

“I’m fine. Bakegama is just Bakegama.” 

“If that’s it, then nothing is different from usual.” The twitch of Hinata’s lips tells him differently, but Kei pointedly doesn’t comment on it. “And I don’t see why you’re here with me, instead of sitting with him.” 

The face Hinata makes in response to that would be much more hilarious if Kei were slightly more conscious than he is right now. As it is, this conversation should be over already. Before something about seeing one of his soulmates for the first time since Bokuto came over for a surprise visit slips out. 

His mother has kindly ignored his vague mentions of Akaashi, although there is a tick of annoyance from that smug smile of hers when he does. No amount of knowing Hinata would convince him to explain the situation. Not when it’s excitable Hinata, who loves hearing about everyone’s soulmates. 

But Hinata is too focused on his own troubles to notice if Kei is acting strangely. “Do you really want to know?” 

“No.” 

“Fine!” Hinata’s head hits the back of the seating, either that or his shout making Ennoshita grumble something threatening from behind them. “Kageyama thinks that talking to Goshiki is bad idea, because, you know.” 

“I assure you, I do not know,” Kei says, dryly. “I don’t want to know, either.” 

“I’m not going to leak team secretes to Goshiki,” Hinata continues, resolute. 

Was he supposed to be worried about Hinata leaking team secrets to another team? Not knowing at all would be preferable, even if the thought of Hinata doing anything but guard these so-called team secrets until his death makes him snort. Goshiki may be little more than a blurry figure in his head, but something would have to change drastically for him to ruin their chances of going to Nationals. 

Hinata’s hands go through a complicated series of gestures, whatever meaning they were supposed to have lost. “ _See_?” 

“I see that you’re both idiots. But that’s nothing new.” 

Any further retorts are cut off by his phone vibrating. It makes Hinata halt, that level of stillness usually only seen on the court. Ignoring it just to see him squirm is tempting, but the need to see who messaged him easily wins out. 

More messages flash across his screen than there should be, given the early hour. Kei presses his palm to his mouth as he opens them up, one by one, hiding his amusement. 

_Idiot #1_ 7m ago  
 _GOOD LUCK  
YOU WONT BEAT AKAASHI  
BUT I WANT TO KNOW HOW MANY TIMES YOU BEAT NEKOMA INTO THE GROUND  
<3 <3 <3 _

_Too Pretty for His Own Good_ 2m ago  
 _Please inform Bo that he should rethink messaging me at this hour_  
I thought he was my alarm

Kei snorts and types a quick reply to both of them, ignoring the way Hinata is beaming from beside him. Just because Hinata has no sense of privacy doesn’t mean he has to acknowledge it. 

More pressing is that Bokuto pulling something like this, a good luck right before the training camp, didn’t occur to him. It’s exactly the sort of thing Bokuto would do. Unless Akaashi were right there, explaining why being messaged at this hour might be annoying. Akaashi has a short temper in the mornings, Bokuto had confessed to him during his visit to Sendai, three kinds of awed. 

Hinata finally drops the conversation as Kei continues messaging them, the responses slowing as they presumably start getting ready for the day. 

Before he knows it, the bus is pulling into Nekoma’s parking lot. The rest of the bus ride had been mostly uneventful, save for whatever happened near the front of the bus to make the first years explode into laughter. Kei would prefer not to know what it was. Not with this exhaustion hanging over his head, the lack of other buses in the parking lot making his mood sour. They file off the bus in a daze, half of Yamaguchi’s hair sticking straight up, and march towards the gym. 

A gym that is already open. 

Fukurodani is nowhere in sight, but Kei spots Kenma on his way inside. Just one of the many Nekoma members, his groan unavoidable when Lev starts shouting at Hinata from the other side of the court. 

By the time Fukurodani does arrive, Kei has already been pulled into blocking for everyone practicing their spikes. His attention wavers at the opening doors, Tanaka cheering loudly when a spike goes between his arms. The few moments before one of the first years gets into position is all it takes for Kei to pick out Akaashi from the rest of Fukurodani, the severe tilt of his eyebrows softening when their eyes meet. Just in time for Kei to remember that he actually has to block the ball. 

The entire day is like that. Not nearly as bad as the disaster of their practice match with Fukurodani a couple months ago, but Kei has worked hard to wipe that from Karasuno’s recent memory. It must have worked, because at least two of the first years gape at him after Akaashi catches his attention. As if it isn’t bad enough that his knee pad is no longer big enough to cover all three of his Marks.

Something eases in his chest when Akaashi heads towards him during lunch. There are still another three days to this particular camp, but last year hangs over his head. 

Kei has no intentions of wasting his time with Akaashi this year.

Even if they have plans to stay with Bokuto and Kuroo in just a couple weeks. Even if Yamaguchi’s smile and silent urging is almost enough to make him turn around and give up on the entire thing. 

“I have to help the new regulars with their technique this evening,” Akaashi starts, part greeting and part apology. “You could join us, if you want.” 

The refusal on his tongue is mostly there out of habit. 

But Kuroo had been forced into training Lev last year. This isn’t too different from that, although these new regulars can’t be as useless as Lev had been this time last year. So, Kei nods instead, a rush of relief overtaking him when the corners of Akaashi’s lips rise and they both dig into their food. 

His plans somehow spread through Karasuno over the afternoon without him saying a word. An overhanded mention of going to the second gymnasium when he grabs his water bottle and a towel after the matches end for day is followed by a question of where else he would be. This is normal, Kei tells himself. Everyone from Karasuno is expecting him to spend time with Akaashi. 

None of this is actually strange. That is limited to the odd turn of his stomach as he heads towards the second gym, unsurprised to find the nets already set up and Akaashi there with a haphazard collection of first years. 

Akaashi is the one Kei gravitates towards, once he abandons his water bottle along the side. “You have a game plan?” 

“Yes, receiving practice.” The glint in Akaashi’s eyes as he watches Kei is enough to make anyone’s breathing stop. “I was hoping to get your help with that.” 

“You’ll set for me?” 

Akaashi nods, and mirrors Kei’s smirk.

Anything other than receiving practice would make this unfair, particularly against a bunch of first years who can barely get the ball to where their setter would be. Even with it being just him and Akaashi against five others. And Kei hasn’t even been able to show off the improvement in his spikes once during this training camp. 

Him and Akaashi fall into sync easily and without fanfare. Kei snickers when the colour drains from someone’s face after his first proper spike, the ball easily ricocheting off their arms. There is force behind it, more force than expected from someone who put the lowest possible effort into their matches all day. None of them know that him and Kageyama fight during each match, a battle of how much Kei should try, at least not yet.

They find out that evening, in those couple hours before dinner. Then the next day, they wait for him, lingering by the main gymnasium doors as he grabs his stuff. Akaashi is with them, so close to smiling that tugging him into a different room and kissing that look off his face nearly becomes a reality.

Kei doesn’t do that. 

Nor does he acknowledge the thoughts shifting through his head, not to himself or anyone else. 

Predictably, the training camp seems to go by in a matter of hours. His feet drag beneath as he boards the bus, Yamaguchi in front of him and considerably more excited to go home. 

Two weeks, Kei tells himself. Two weeks until he sees Akaashi again, this time with Kuroo and Bokuto. This time with all four of them in the same place, no swarms of other people to distract them. To give him a way out when everything gets a bit more serious than Kei can handle.

Maybe they would believe him if he said he had the flu. Doubtful, but Kei could pull it off, with how nauseous he feels. 

Then again, he suggested this whole thing to begin with. 

And there are another handful of months left before there will be another opportunity to see them again.

.

.

.

Sleeping.

Those bastards are sleeping. 

“They’ve… just been lying there since you got here?” Kei asks again, just to be certain. 

Akaashi hums. “Yaku said they fell asleep sometime after breakfast.” 

“But that-” 

“Was hours ago? Yes, I believe Bokuto sent you the same picture he sent me.” 

Kei groans, unable to tear his gaze from the mess sprawled across the couch. Bokuto and Kuroo have not moved so much as a centimetre since he got here, even if that had only been a few minutes ago. 

This is about as far from the excited pictures Bokuto sent him earlier. One had been Bokuto beaming into the camera, captioned with a countdown until the exact time he was supposed to arrive. That had been before Kei boarded his train, and another had followed almost half an hour after that. The last had been of Kuroo cooking breakfast in his boxers, which Kei had closed as swiftly as possible. Some things did not need to be seen by the old woman sitting next to him. 

No matter how nice the view had been. 

Given the long look him and Akaashi share, Kei had not been the only one in that situation. He pulls himself away, stepping forward to get a closer look at Bokuto and Kuroo. How exactly they got themselves into this situation is impossible to tell. 

Kei snorts at the awkward placement of their limbs. “You should have just woken them up when you got here.” 

“Perhaps,” Akaashi says, after a moment. “But neither of them have gotten much sleep recently, particularly Kuroo. Bokuto was telling me how frequently he has to go to practice, even just as a reserve, on top of how much studying he did for his midterms.” 

“They could have slept tonight,” Kei counters.

Unlikely, a voice whispers in the back of his head. They want to see him and Akaashi, not sleep. Picturing them foregoing things like food and sleep in favour of anything else they might deem important enough is easy enough, even with the careful distance Kei has attempted to maintain. Him and Akaashi likely count as important enough.

Whether they should do that is a different conversation. One that has no place here, when Kei would prefer to ignore it until it blows up in his face. 

“I’m not that tired,” comes a sleepy murmur from the pile of limbs. 

Kuroo blinks a few times, a languid grin spreading across his face as he turns towards them. A sharp inhale from the other lump on the couch follows both the words and the movement, bits of life showing itself where it had not been a few minutes ago. About as predictable as can be, making his mouth twist into a frown.

The expression is forced back again, Kei carefully raising an eyebrow when Kuroo reaches towards them instead. 

Ignoring it would be best. Their expectations of one another have never been clearly laid out, and at the end of the day, why they’re so willing to accept things as they are has always been blurry. Why they don’t push for more, why do they keep messaging him, even though he snaps and gets angry for no apparent reason sometimes.

All of that gets pushed aside when Kei kneels down, his chin resting on one hand. “You aren’t? Because I thought you were too tired to get up, but now it sounds like you’re too useless to.” 

“You could join us,” Kuroo counters, smirking.

Bokuto hides a laugh, his grin failing to hold itself back.

If he weren’t pretending to sleep, that grin would certainly be directed at him and Akaashi both. Out of all three of them, Bokuto is the one Kei understands the most. The one who takes comfort in them, just as much as he gives it.

“On that?” Kei asks, as he takes a careful look at the couch itself. “Is it even intact?” 

The groan of the furniture, prompted by Kuroo shifting his weight, is answer enough. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself, won’t you?” 

“Or both of you could get up and we can go out for dinner, like we planned,” Akaashi cuts in.

“Dinner?” 

Kei snickers at the obvious excitement in Bokuto’s voice. Well, that and Kuroo flailing around as he’s jostled out of place, on the verge of falling off the couch entirely. 

Only good reflexes allow Kuroo to move before Bokuto tries to get up again, successfully leaping up to his feet this time around. Almost as amusing as the wide grin Bokuto gives Kei and Akaashi, before he disappears down a hall that could only lead to their bedroom. Trust Bokuto to throw himself at an opportunity to eat.

Kuroo carefully pulls himself off the couch, offering them a smile. “Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself,” Kei mutters as he stands up once more.

“I see you found your way here even without our help.” 

And getting that text from Akaashi had been quite the disappointment. A small inkling that Kuroo and Bokuto weren’t quite as excited to see him as Kei assumed, no longer matching up with the Kuroo in front of him. 

Looking at Kuroo is too much to bear. “Only because Akaashi came to help.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sharply. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

Kuroo watches him, painstakingly still. “You are.”

Snapping at him would be all too easy, an insult already waiting in the back of his throat. No explanation is offered to him, no answers are asked for. As if there were somewhere else he would be, at the end of the day.

But Kuroo answers him with a smile, genuine enough to stop his blood from boiling. That smile, and the way Kuroo steps towards Akaashi, exchanging quiet greetings. Only for Kuroo to lean down and kiss Akaashi, their lips lingering as if it’s second nature for both of them. Followed by a second kiss, so soft that Kei forces himself to look away.

.

.

.

Dinner is the same, once they get there.

Kei wanted this, wanted to sit at some stupid table at some stupid restaurant as two of his three soulmates exchange stupid jokes. That they have him laughing along with him just makes it worse, every negative emotion pouring in when they fall silent at sound of it. They are all so happy, and Kei doesn’t understand why.

The realization hits him somewhere along the walk back to the apartment. Maybe they are oblivious to the fond looks they share, the smiles given without rhyme or reason, the jokes that build upon themselves. Even if they aren’t, none of them seem to question why they do that.

They love each other, after all.

Any doubt of that fades with each tale Bokuto shares with them. Stories about Kuroo or Akaashi, about moments shared when Kei was not there. Commentary from both Kuroo and Akaashi build on those stories, giving him hints of what it would be like if he were there as well. As if they wished he had been there. As if they were inviting him to love them back with the same ferocity with which they love each other. 

His hesitance settles in when they get back to an empty apartment, Yaku’s shoes nowhere to be seen. Bokuto is quick to pretend like everything is normal, babbling on about some movie or another that he’s certain they will love. The couch is an uncomfortable fit for all of them, but better that than moving to the bedroom. Kei moves fast enough to get an armrest too, which can only be a good thing in this situation. 

Wanting to enjoy the night is much different from allowing himself to enjoy it. The movie starts to play, but it might as well not be there at all with how much Kei pays attention to it.

By no means is he a touchy-feely person. Him and Yamaguchi have never gone out of their way to hug or sling arms around each other’s shoulder, not like how Hinata touches every person in sight or how Sugawara links arms with Daichi and Asahi. The only one Kei lets touch him is Akiteru, and that is never without protest. 

And now, Kei sits on this couch, half-curled around the armrest and overly aware of the miniscule distance between him and Kuroo. Shifting over would be all too simple, as would reaching for the hand resting on Kuroo’s thigh until it starts running through Bokuto’s hair. But Kei does not do either of those things.

A sigh cuts through the explosions echoing across the screen. “Really, you guys?” 

“You were close to falling asleep too,” Kei immediately counters, all too aware of the three people to his side. They are no longer lit by the laptop screen, now that Kuroo has turned the movie off, but his attention had not once shifted away from them anyways.

“I may or may not have been dozing,” Kuroo says, easing himself out from underneath Bokuto. “It’s different.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Dozing, I will have you now, does not mean I wasn’t paying attention. I could summarize the entire movie, if you wanted me to.” 

Kei rolls his eyes. “Because you’ve seen it before.” 

“Oh?” 

Swallowing becomes difficult, but not any more difficult than the rush of detail that supports his blurted-out statement. The entire plot of the movie is a blur. Each shift of the three of them, each laugh or exasperated exhale, is ingrained into him. 

“Obviously.” His gaze drops, unable to stand the eye contact for any longer. “You only paid attention to the parts you liked. Did you think randomly forcing yourself awake made you subtle?” 

“Actually, I missed my favourite part of the whole movie,” Kuroo informs him. 

“Too bad for you, then.” 

Kei forces himself to look back up, mouth set into a flat line. His heartbeat echoes through his ears, a constant reminder that he should end this conversation before it continues. 

The dim light catches on the smile Kuroo gives him, as it shines through the gaps in the curtains. It brightens his face when he looks down at Bokuto and Akaashi, and yet softens it all the same. Softer may not be the same as fonder, may not be anything more than the situation. That would be easier to cope with than the alternative, the blatant affection they show for one another playing on a loop in his head. 

“You planning on sleeping out here?” Kuroo asks him. 

Kei falters. Nothing else about this trip has been determinedly ignored. “As soon as you wake Akaashi and Bokuto up.” 

Sleeping in the same bed as the three of them is not something he could handle. It is intimate in a way nothing else between them has ever been. Even just considering how they would configure themselves in the same space is too much to bear. Would Kei be pushed off to the side again, his cowardice preventing him from closing any distance between them. 

Kuroo laughs, but the sound is far from natural. “Wake them up? They could sleep through a hurricane at this point, only to be confused when they wake up floating down the street.” 

“Then-” 

“We’re not carrying them either,” he says, as if he knew exactly what protest Kei would make. “Bo weighs as much as a small elephant, even on days when he doesn’t consume twice that in food.” 

A scowl stretches across his face before it can held back. His options are quickly drying up, leaving him stranded in the same bed as Kuroo. Leaving him alone with his own inability to reach out to them.

Kuroo sighs, the bite behind his words faing. “I don’t want to put you in Yaku’s room, because I don’t know when he’ll be back. But I promise to stay on my side of the bed, safely away from you.” 

As if this could get any worse. 

“And?” 

“We changed the sheets last night? I don’t know what else to tell you, Tsukki.” 

Kei rolls his eyes, a mask pulled tight across his face. This could get worse, if Kuroo finds out that he wants this carefully maintained distance between them to shatter into pieces. Opening himself up like that could only end badly, but he stands up anyways, motioning for Kuroo to lead the way. 

Getting ready for bed is the easy part. Years of sharing a bathroom with Akiteru has turned moving around other people into something second nature to him, even if him and Kuroo refuse to look at one another. Not that it matters as they switch between the bedroom and bathroom, Kei left with a few moments to compose himself. 

Or to compose himself as much as possible, because his attempts to even out his breathing turn useless when he steps into the bedroom. The bedroom that Kuroo and Bokuto share each night. The bedroom that him and Kuroo will share tonight. Then Kuroo pauses, his gaze flickering down to Kei’s pajama bottoms. 

Kei had forgotten that they were covered in cartoon dinosaurs.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he says, lowly. 

“But, Tsukki-” 

His gaze locks onto Kuroo’s chest, filled with vindication. “I haven’t said anything about that stupid shirt of yours, have I?” 

“What’s wrong with cats?” Kuroo asks, frowning down at his shirt. 

“It’s just so stereotypically you that no one would believe it.” 

“Who cares? I appreciate both of our choices in pajamas, honestly.” 

That is the final nail is his coffin. 

Kuroo could not have been more earnest if he had tried, all over something so insignificant. Only it isn’t insignificant, not when it comes from the same person who revealed his Marks to both Karasuno and Nekoma, who turned brittle upon hearing that Kei hadn’t known they existed until then. 

The number of times Kei has stared at his Marks since then can not be understated. They were mistaken as freckles once, faded enough that any other option had never occurred to him or anyone else. Now they are so much more than that, even though Kuroo keeps his distance. Bokuto and Akaashi have reached out in their own ways, between phone calls and explanations of now-faded bruises. 

Except now Kuroo is staring at him with something hidden in those dark eyes, gone entirely as the bedroom light is turned off and he climbs into bed. Kei slowly adjusts to the dark room, to the dark figure on the bed. There is just enough space for him on the outer edge, and he tentatively steps forward, inhaling sharply. The air in his lungs stops moving once he lies down, if only for a moment.

The bed is smaller than he thought it would be. All four of them would fit if they tried, but there is no space for worries of being separated from the others. Not with Kuroo suddenly so close to him, close enough that Kei lies there for a long time, just staring. This is a distance he can cross, might even cross accidentally. 

A snore breaks the silence between them, echoing from the living room. Kuroo laughs immediately, the sound nearly bursting from him. The laugh brightens his face, even though Kei shouldn’t be able to make out any details. It occurs to him just then how easy it would be to kiss Kuroo, just as Kuroo and Akaashi kissed earlier, so soft that Kei had forced himself to look away. 

Kuroo relaxes as their eyes catch. “Can I touch you?” 

Kei freezes. 

The question jostling through his head, a reflection of the same thing he has been asking himself all afternoon, all night. 

Then he slowly exhales, melting back into the bed. “Why?” 

“Why?” Kuroo echoes, sounding as if Kei just slapped him. “Is wanting to not good enough for you?” 

“Then you don’t have to ask.” 

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, quietly, “I think I do.” 

“You’re so-” 

“Tsukishima, I’m not doing anything you don’t want me to do.” 

Both of them are so stupid. 

Kei moves, unable to stop himself. Pushing Kuroo flat onto the bed is decision made without contemplation, his legs straddling thin, bony hips. There is nothing to hold him back anymore. 

Power rushes through him as he looks down at Kuroo, a smirk gracing his lips. This is what he’s wanted all day, if not quite how he wanted it. But the look Kuroo gives him in return reveals how defenseless he is, how Kei could do almost anything he wants like this. 

All it would take to turn this situation around, to obscure his intentions - both of their intentions, is shifting his hips. And Kei does exactly that, just as he imagines someone might do to him. It pulls a wavering breath from Kuroo’s lips, one that makes them both pause at the reality of the situation. At what Kei has initiated. 

“This isn’t what I meant,” Kuroo tells him. 

As if it’s as simple as that. “Uh-huh.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“Then what did you mean?” 

Kuroo moves before the question leaves his mouth, pulling him down until there is no distance between them. His neck strains from the awkward angle, his hands shoot forward to keep himself upright. But Kuroo is right there, close enough that he can probably feel the tremble of Kei’s bottom lip.

Then Kuroo drops back down, a grin painted across his face when Kei follows. There is nothing for Kei to hold onto anymore, and his head drops into the space above Kuroo’s shoulder. Putting a name to the thick scent there would be impossible, even as his body slowly eases into it and the warmth surrounding them.

“See?” Kuroo murmurs. “Like this.” 

“I don’t-” 

“All I want is to have a nice, long cuddle,” he says, slow and purposeful. 

Kei blinks, but working through that is akin to moving through honey. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, _oh_.” 

He laughs as lightly as he can. This is what he wanted, has wanted so desperately. This is what he assumed Kuroo would shy away from, everything else obscuring that they’ve been on the same wavelength this entire time. 

Then Kei props himself up and takes a moment to look at Kuroo properly. Not just as someone who exposes his Marks so carelessly, but as someone who makes mistakes, and one big mistakes in particular without the opportunity to make up for it. His fingers trace the line of Kuroo’s jaw, before he leans over to take the leap he’s been avoiding all day.

.

.

.

“You kissed Kuroo,” Bokuto informs him, two days later.

As if the four of them aren’t at the train station, waiting for the train that will bring Kei back to Sendai. The others were not willing to waste so much as a potential moment with him. 

The reality of Bokuto beaming up at him with enough excitement for all of them is nearly impossible to believe. His fingers twitch, but that is no more distracting than the constant shift of his weight. Or the way Kuroo has a finger threaded through the loop of Bokuto’s jeans, smirk posed as a challenge to everyone else around them. 

Akaashi is the only realistic one of the three of them, lingering off to the side as he looks up the time for his own train back home. Even though Kei saw him outlining his itinerary on his phone half an hour ago. As if a few moments of not quite privacy will change anything. Which is only to be expected from the same person who didn’t tell one of his soulmates about getting into a fistfight, because he didn’t want to hurt them.

The entire lot of them are ridiculous. 

“And?” he drawls. 

If anything, Bokuto’s grin grows. “You _kissed_ Kuroo.” 

“So you’ve said,” Kei says. “Feel free to elaborate, though.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches at the exasperation seeping into those golden eyes. But Bokuto has gone still, gaze flickering down to Kei’s lips and contemplating them with all the intensity of a bird waiting for its prey. Not that Bokuto would ever see him as just prey, but the metaphor fits. 

Kuroo snorts, his attention back on the two of them. That, and seemingly content with the lack of assholes bothering them this early on a Monday morning.

“You know, you could just tell me what you want,” Kei suggests, lightly. 

Bokuto’s grin morphs into a full-blown pout. “It’s only fair that you kiss me. And - and Akaashi too!” 

“Bokuto,” comes the simple scolding from Akaashi, though he doesn’t bother to turn back towards them. 

“You want to kiss him too!” Bokuto whines, his gaze still firmly placed on Kei. “You told me so last week.” 

Which is just about all Kei can take of having their personal business discussed in the middle of a train station. Although, stepping forward and planting a firm kiss onto Bokuto’s lips before anything can be said is likely not an effective way to escape attention. But it is the most satisfying way to get Bokuto to stop talking.

The enthusiasm with which Bokuto kisses him back should be suffocating. It should make him overly aware of Kuroo and Akaashi standing right there, of how easily he matches that enthusiasm. It doesn’t, just as the grin pressed against his lips is a comfort, instead. A slight cough has him pulling away, a snicker escaping when Bokuto attempts to follow. Having him so close is better than expected. 

“Perhaps this should wait for another time?” Akaashi suggests. 

Kuroo steps in, before Kei can try to think of anything other than Bokuto pressed up against him. “Are you suggesting that you don’t want in on the fun, Akaashi? Tsukki does need a fair bit of practice, if you know what I mean.” 

Kei does, in fact, know what Kuroo means. And his response comes swiftly, in the form of his foot. 

Disappointment wells up inside him when Kuroo hops out of the way before his foot connects with anything. That had been too obvious then, although not as obvious as the hand twisted in his shirt, Bokuto’s smile gone soft and a touch too sappy. 

Akaashi stares at them, gaze flat and train schedule long forgotten. “That’s beside the point.” 

“Is it? I could come over there and kiss you myself, while these two say their goodbyes,” Kuroo offers, teasing enough to make Kei roll his eyes and rest his forehead against Bokuto’s.

“Kuroo.” 

Bokuto laughs a bit, slowly coming back to life. “They don’t usually do this, you know.” 

“Do what?” Kei asks. 

“Tease each other,” Bokuto tells him. “You’re good for us like that.” 

Bokuto says it so easily.

Kei swallows back the nameless emotion that brings, everything he’s been working through these past couple days. But then his train is announced over the intercom, a handful of minutes left until he has to board and wait months before seeing them again. 

Lips press against his own in a brief peck before Bokuto pulls away, nudging him towards the others. It can only be a goodbye, and after being pushed for something more, Kei curses the timing of all this. Kuroo and Akaashi’s bickering halts abruptly as Kuroo blinks at him, before grinning and leaning up those couple centimetres. 

Kissing them like this makes them a collection, in a way. A collection of memories to keep him moving forward, to remind him that this is real. Akaashi is the one who makes Kei pause, though, both of them standing there with every idea of how they want this to end. Then Kei forces himself forward. There is little fanfare in their kiss, but lingering for one, two three breathes is something to treasure. 

A hint of a smile graces Akaashi’s face when they part, nearly enough to make him do a double take.

His lips stay warm the entire four hours he spends on the train. The book he brought with him stays in his bag, untouched, unlike his phone with its steady stream of texts from Bokuto. Silence from Kuroo and Akaashi is less daunting than it used to be, but his fingers twitch to contact them now, to find out if kisses exchanged on a train platform are alright. 

Then his mother laughs as she picks him up from the train station, his face scrunched up into a frown. It is by far the worst part of the trip.

.

.

.

His trip to Tokyo had been well-timed, all things considered. There is hardly enough time to think in the week after it, not with school starting in a matter of days and everything that comes with that. Ennoshita forces Karasuno to get together for so-called team bonding, but that is more just an excuse to make sure they’re studying. A couple of the first years have grades nearly as low as Hinata and Kageyama’s are, which is impressive in itself.

Not that Bokuto or Kuroo give him the opportunity to forget about them in the meantime. Kei sends one little text to Kuroo, and might as well have opened a dam with how frequently Kuroo messages him. They consist of everything from the mundane to obscure questions posed at all hours of the day, the pauses just long enough to hint at other conversations going on simultaneously.

Only Akaashi keeps his distance, but there is no wondering what the reason behind that is. A picture of the exercise books for Akaashi’s university exams erases the need for that. 

“I… don’t think I’m going to university anymore,” Yamaguchi admits as he stares at the photo in question. 

Kei groans and slumps forward onto his desk. “At least you have that option.”

“We could both drop out,” comes the inevitable offer, the phone dropped back onto the desk. “Drop out and work at Shimada or Ukai’s. We could even join the Neighbourhood Association.” 

“For someone so set on leaving Miyagi, you’ve certainly thought about this a lot,” Kei counters, before he thinks too about it. With that much work ahead of him, thinking about leaving will only lead him down a different path than the one he wants.

Namely, one of the microbiology programs in Tokyo. None of them are at the universities Kuroo and Bokuto go to, or even the one Akaashi has his eye on, but somewhere else entirely. It will be his own thing, and something he will be good at too. 

Yamaguchi stares at him from across the desk, his chin propped up on his hand. “Huh.” 

“What?” 

“So, you have been paying attention to what I’ve been telling you,” Yamaguchi says, as innocently as can be.

Which is far less innocent than the words themselves. Or the downwards turn of Yamaguchi’s lips, like there always is when he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. Talking around the subject, jabbing at potential weak points has always been his style of confronting people. 

It would be nice to know why Kei is being confronted, though. This is far from the first time Yamaguchi has stood up to him, but just narrowing his eyes makes Yamaguchi sigh and lean back again. Tension is written into his shoulders, tension that Kei should have noticed long before now. Nothing just bursts from Yamaguchi, not like it does with him. Something will both him, then something else and another thing after that, all written off until Yamaguchi breaks. 

Closer to water coming to a boil, than a flame bursting into being. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Kei asks. 

Yamaguchi stares at him for a long moment, before his shoulders slump and the tension passes. “No reason. What do you think of moving into the mountains and learning to fend for ourselves?” 

“Not happening,” he counters. “It might get out of receiving drills, but I actually like coming back to a warm bed every night.” 

“Good point.” 

Their conversation continues as if nothing happened, but that moment stays with Kei. Tension and a biting remark, where he expected neither, haunts him. 

A week passes, filled with more texts, with practice, with joking insults traded with the other second years, and with Kei keeping a careful eye on Yamaguchi. There are no signs that something is wrong, not really. Nothing to point Kei towards what could potentially be wrong, or if even if Yamaguchi had just been having an off day. 

All Kei wants is to talk it over with someone, preferably Yamaguchi himself. But their relationship has never worked like that. Neither of them have ever taken the time to talk through something instead of working it out with casual insults and biting remarks. 

His second instinct is to talk to Kuroo. Kuroo, who has Kenma as a best friend, who will probably listen if Kei asks. But explaining this to someone who doesn’t know Yamaguchi would be a challenge for both of them. So, when Kuroo asks him how he is, Kei carefully keeps that information to himself.

Saying nothing becomes easier, the thought lingering in the back of his mind regardless. There are too many other things that need his attention, anyways. They have a couple months before Spring High, but Ennoshita drives them hard. And tracks down anyone who might attempt to skip practice before they can leave.

The number of time Kei gets to the front gate, only to find Ennoshita waiting there, staring at him with dead eyes is higher than he would admit. 

“All I want is one day off,” Kei groans, as they head home after practice. 

Yamaguchi snickers, not even slightly sympathetic. Then again, he hasn’t tried to skip practice once all year. “At least he didn’t make us stay for pork buns.” 

“I never want to see another damn pork bun,” he agrees, easily. 

“You sure? We can always turn around.” 

Kei directs a glare at him. “No.” 

“Well, how about you come over instead? I still have that book you wanted,” Yamaguchi offers.

“Another time?” 

“So, you’re busy then.” 

Just like that, the tension reappears. 

Kei watches Yamaguchi from the corner of his eye, recognizing the tight line of his lips for what it is. In no way is Yamaguchi subtle, and he never will be. 

A story is written into the tight line of his lips, into the sudden lack of eye contact, into the stiffness of his back. But there is no telling what that story is, not when Yamaguchi won’t tell him anything. This would normally be enough. Kei should figure it out from this, should know what is making him act like this, but he doesn’t have the slightest clue. 

“Yeah,” Kei says, as they turn the corner. The streets around here are abandoned, most everyone inside for dinner. “I could come over after practice on Saturday, though.” 

“You know I have a family dinner on Saturday,” Yamaguchi counters. 

Kei had not known that, but this is not the time to admit that. 

“Oh.” 

“Besides” - there is no sign of Yamaguchi stopping, not as he glowers at the ground as if it has personally offended him - “you’ll probably be busy then too. Even though you always just sit around your room.” 

No, Kei carefully does not say, his gaze dropping away to the pavement, but Akaashi’s practice was cancelled today. And Bokuto and Kuroo are free as well, their schedules lining up for the first time since the summer. He has every intention of staying on that call until he falls asleep tonight. Even if putting that sentiment into words would be too much to handle. 

And Yamaguchi already knows all that, because Kei told him as much during lunch today. This should be easier than that. The two of them have been friends for years now, enough for Yamaguchi to understand how Kei feels whenever he looks at his phone and finds nothing there.

“Whatever,” Kei mutters.

It just makes Yamaguchi’s scowl grow.

Not what Kei should have said, but nothing else made enough sense to put into words. Neither of them speak the rest of the way back, not until Yamaguchi says goodbye as he turns down his street. 

One glance from his mother is all it takes for her to figure out that something is wrong. Being that perceptive is not fair, regardless of who inherited what, but the entire situation comes tumbling out. Getting out of the conversation would be impossible, anyways. Even when his phone goes off as they sit at the dining room table, ignored, if only for a few minutes. 

The conversation lasts more than a few minutes. It goes through the entirety of dinner and then longer still. His only saving grace, which occurs to him sometime during his explanation of this evening, is that Akiteru didn’t join them for dinner tonight. There are only so many sympathetic glances Kei could handle, and his mother has already filled that quota. 

“Have you considered that Yamaguchi is jealous?” his mother cautiously asks, as she puts away the dishes. 

Kei blinks, then snorts as the idea catches up with him. “Jealous?” 

“Kei.” 

“No, what does he have to be jealous of? Me being a regular or having three soulmates compared to his one? Neither of those are things he should be jealous of,” he informs her.

His mother turns to stare at him, exasperation clear on her face. “Or, you know, he could be jealous of how obviously you care about those three boys. Maybe even jealous of them, although he would never tell you as much.” 

Kei falls silent. 

“It will be okay. Just… make sure to spend more time with him, alright?” she says, offering him a smile.

.

.

.

The state of their friendship does not become clear until Kei forces himself to ask Yamaguchi how he is.

Yamaguchi stares at him, then bursts into laughter, all of his good intentions blown wide open. 

Not that Kei expected anything else. And yet, another line of action wouldn’t have worked, because both of them are more comfortable speaking in double meanings. When they tease and ridicule, and now when they put that aside for a few minutes at a time. Still, it takes exactly one invitation to watch some stupid documentary together, before everything goes back to normal between them. 

Kei does not mention their conversation to his mother. Refuses to acknowledge it himself, unless he is lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, sleep a distant dream. 

It seems obvious now. That Yamaguchi was not angry at him, but jealous of the time Kei spends on Bokuto, Kuroo, and Akaashi. Subtle is not a good description of his feelings towards them, not when it comes to his mother or Yamaguchi. Kei thought it had been, but clearly that was wrong. 

In the dark of his bedroom, it is easier to admit that having someone beside him is better than being alone. Ignoring that had been easier before Kei knew what sleeping with three other people pressed in around him felt like. There is too much distance between them to change that now, but it has changed everything else about his life, as well. And the three of them are oblivious to the fact that he can no longer fall asleep, not when those feelings won’t leave him alone for even five minutes. 

Kei grapples for his phone, half instinctively and half through the exhaustion weighing him down. There is no opportunity to think through his actions before he pulls up the first contact on his phone and video calls it, peering through the bright light radiating off his screen. 

It rings once, twice, then a third time. 

His eyes twitches when it stops, his screen turning black. 

Then it rings in his hand, the familiar name flashing across the screen. The temptation to ignore it briefly wells inside him, just to see what would happen, but Kei is far too tired for that. 

The call loads slowly, long enough that Kei rolls over and makes himself comfortable, curled into his sheets. Then Bokuto fills his screen, face alit only by the harsh light of his own phone as he lies in bed on the other side of the country. His eyelids droop down, enough that Kei nearly ends the call, right then and there. Expecting everyone else to be unable to sleep as well had been a stupid thought, one that should have never occurred to him. 

“Tsukki?” Bokuto mumbles, voice thick with disuse. 

Kei grimaces. “Hey.” 

“It’s… just past midnight.” 

And thus, far too early for someone to be asleep, in his humble opinion. Nevermind that Kei is lying in bed himself, attempting to do just that. It is still too late for anyone to be calling anyone else. 

“Whatever,” he mutters, turning into his pillow. “It didn’t matter anyway. I’ll talk to you later.” 

A low whine interrupts him, no actual words audible from the sound. It is enough to stop Kei from hanging up, though, raising an eyebrow as he waits for Bokuto to say something more coherent. 

Bokuto blinks a few times, appearing more coherent with each passing moment, then shakes his head. “Don’t. I missed you last week, when you couldn’t make it to our date thing.” 

“Oh?” Kei asks, unable to resist a taunt. 

“Uh-huh.” Bokuto’s eyes slowly close, but he forces them open again, smiling as he does so. “And Tetsu’s out with some friends from school, so I want to talk to you.” 

One mumbled response, and his heart pounds in his ears, uncertain of what to acknowledge first. So much was packed into that simple statement, so much that Bokuto certainly doesn’t realize he’s saying. And yet, all of that is exactly what Kei needed to hear tonight, except the part about Kuroo not being around to talk with them. 

He licks his lips, finding himself incapable of resisting. “So, when did Tetsu happen?” 

Bokuto freezes, suddenly much more alert than he had been just a few seconds before. “Uh.” 

“It hasn’t, has it?” he pushes, just because he can. A whimper is what Kei gets for his trouble, loud enough for him to commit it to memory. “What will Tetsu say when he hears about this?” 

That name, even shortened down - especially shortened down, rolls off his tongue with more pleasure than expected. 

“I - I just call him that in my head sometimes!” Bokuto rushes to say, stumbling over his words. 

“And do you call Akaashi and I by our given names as well? In your head, of course,” Kei teases, as he hides a smirk in his pillow.

“I - yes - maybe?” 

The shade of red painted carefully across Bokuto’s cheeks is a beautiful sight. One that Kei wishes he could reach out and tough, although he would never bring himself to do it in person. 

“Let me hear it, then,” comes his reply, before Kei realizes just what he’s saying. 

“ _Kei_ ,” Bokuto whines. 

The view shifts as Bokuto rolls onto his back, an arm slung over his face. That one syllable sounds so different from him than anyone else who has ever said it, even with that pleading undertone. It settles his nerves in an unexpected way, makes him wonder if Kuroo and Akaashi would say it the same way, or if it would sound different once more upon their lips. 

“Thanks,” Kei breathes out, then, just to be cruel, “Koutarou.” 

Bokuto shifts his arm, the flush of his cheeks still so dark as he peers at Kei through his dark bedroom. “You missed us.” 

A retort builds inside him, a denial ready to be spoken at any moment. Attachments are what hurt people, have hurt him so many times in the past. And always with the added hit of having his best intentions in mind. 

But that isn’t true. Not in the way it had been a year and a half ago. Even if Kei wanted to cling to that belief, Bokuto and Akaashi and Kuroo have done so much to destroy it. By giving him time and space, by letting him decide what’s best for him, by gently correcting him when he’s wrong about that. 

“And?” he says, pushing aside that denial.

Bokuto grins at him. “You missed us.” 

“It’s not like it was a secret.” Go ahead and tell the others, is what Kei really means, and given the breathless laugh he receives, the message comes through loud and clear. “I should let you go back to sleep, though.” 

“No way! If you hang up on me now, I’m just going to phone you right back,” Bokuto informs him.

Kei hangs up. 

And can’t help a smile when Bokuto’s name flashes across his screen, hardly a second later. Without hesitating, Kei accepts the call and snickers when Bokuto’s pout flickers into view.


	13. iv: Bokuto Koutarou

Fluorescent light from outside fills the room, oblivious to who might be kept awake because of it. Light that would mostly disappear if Koutarou sat up and pulled the blinds closed. 

Kuroo normally closes the blinds. 

Since they moved in together, the only times Kuroo hasn’t closed the blinds is when he was visiting his parents. 

Koutarou groans and rolls over. Just enough that he’s lying on the other side of the bed, the side that he normally does not sleep on. All he wants is to sleep, preferably sprawled across Kuroo, so that both of them are stuck here until morning rolls around. Until the light flooding the room is not fluorescent, but the soft glow of the morning sun. 

Which is impossible when Kuroo isn’t even home. Koutarou buries his head in Kuroo’s pillow, his eyes squeezed shut. Next time Kuroo goes drinking with friends from school, Kuroo will join them, no matter how nervous or hesitant he feels. Next time, he won’t grin and urge Kuroo to go spend time with other people alone. 

A soft buzz comes from the other side of the bed, and Koutarou slowly pulls his head up. The source of the noise registers a moment too late, the buzzing coming to a stop as Koutarou scrambles to reach for his phone. It should be on the charger, instead of underneath his pillow, but Koutarou purposely ignores that for the time being. Except Kuroo’s name isn’t attached to the missed call, a bright _Crowfriend!!!_ taking its place. 

Koutarou changed Tsukishima’s name to that a few days ago. Tsukishima, who never calls without texting first, not even when Koutarou just spent the last five minutes complaining about how long it’s been since he heard Tsukishima’s voice.

His head drops back down to the pillow as he calls back, Tsukishima’s face filling his screen a moment later. “Tsukki?” 

“Hey,” comes the quiet reply. 

“It’s-” Koutarou narrows his eyes as he peers at the time in the corner of the screen - “just past midnight.” 

Tsukishima exhales. His face is lit up by his phone and nothing else, and it makes the shadows all the more obvious when he turns into his pillow. “Whatever. It didn’t matter anyway. I’ll talk to you later.” 

A whine leaves him, coherency still a bit beyond his abilities for this time of night. Koutarou has been laying here for hours now, trying not to wonder what time Kuroo will be back from whatever pub he’s at. 

Hanging up now would be even worse than just laying here was to begin with. The corners of Tsukishima’s mouth look tight, even with the bad quality of the camera, but the call does not end right then and there. If this had happened before the few days Tsukishima spent with them over the summer, the call would have already ended. If this were before the summer, Tsukishima never would have called at all. 

Even Akaashi shies away from calling in the middle of the night. 

So, Koutarou pushes through the haze of almost-sleep and tries again. “Don’t. I missed you last week, when you couldn’t make it to our date thing.”

“Oh?” Tsukishima fires back. 

There is a challenge written into his voice, but Koutarou smiles, warm and happy at the thought of this conversation lasting a bit longer. “Uh-huh. And Tetsu’s out with some friends from school, so I want to talk to you.” 

In truth, there are few times where Koutarou doesn’t want to talk to Tsukishima. Or any of the three of them, for that matter. Hearing Tsukishima now, when his bed seemed vacant just moments ago, is a gift Koutarou would never turn away. Koutarou wants to be with his soulmates, wants to see his Marks grow into something beautiful. 

More than that, Koutarou wants them and everything that includes. Tsukishima would not be Tsukishima if he didn’t test the waters or have a cutting comment for everything. Kuroo wouldn’t be Kuroo without a reserve of snarky jokes to distract from anything serious. Akaashi wouldn’t be Akaashi if he didn’t overthink everything. Koutarou wants all of that, just as much as he wants the other parts of them. 

“So, when did Tetsu happen?” 

Koutarou tenses, the colour draining from his cheeks. “Uh.” 

“It hasn’t, has it?” Tsukishima pushes, a hint of a smirk visible over the camera. Koutarou whimpers, and his heart beats so loudly that it almost drowns out what Tsukishima says next, “What will Tetsu say when he hears about this?” 

The soft warmth from talking to Tsukishima turns to flames all at once, as undeniable as Tetsu rolling off of Tsukishima’s tongue. 

Just as it had off of Koutarou’s, just a few moments ago. 

“I - I just call him that in my head sometimes!” Koutarou blurts out. 

“And do you call Akaashi and I by our given names as well? In your head, of course,” Tsukishima asks. 

Yes, Koutarou thinks to himself, more times than he can count. 

But no one is supposed to know that. 

“I - yes - maybe?” 

The admission is nearly as painful as the heat rushing through his veins. His cheeks must be burning, but that is the least of his problems at the moment. 

Koutarou has found himself in this position a handful of times since that incident with Kuroo back before the summer. Ignoring it until it went away was difficult all those other times, but now Tsukishima is watching him with no idea of how Koutarou wants to slip out of his pajama bottoms. 

Tsukishima inhales sharply. “Let me hear it.” 

The tone alone would be enough to make Koutarou comply. 

“ _Kei_.” 

The name builds inside him, refusing to be ignored, refusing to let Koutarou forget that he’s wanted to say it out loud since Tsukishima came over in the summer. Koutarou abruptly rolls onto his back and throws an arm over his face. His other hand holds up his phone, if only because of how tempting it is to let his fingers brush against his waistband. 

“Thanks, Koutarou.” 

Tsukishima makes his given name sounds beautiful, treasured to the point where his chest feels tight. It makes Koutarou want to hear Tsukishima it over and over again. 

He pulls his arm away, just enough so he can see Tsukishima watching him. Like it or not, there hadn’t been much mocking in that thank you. And maybe a few months ago, Koutarou would have mistaken that expression for annoyance, but that is far from the truth. 

“You missed us,” Koutarou breathes out. 

Tsukishima bristles. “And?” 

A grin immediately spreads across his face, wide enough to make his cheeks ache, but finding that out is the best part of this phone call so far. “You missed us.” 

“It’s not like it was a secret.” Koutarou laughs, because it was a secret. It was, and now it doesn’t have to be. “I should let you go back to sleep, though.” 

“No way! If you hang up on me now, I’m just going to phone you right back.” 

His screen brightens as the dark shadows of Tsukishima’s room disappear. 

A splutter forces itself from his lips, but Koutarou has already pressed redial, his chest still tight when Tsukishima answers immediately. He forces a pout onto his face and pretends that Tsukishima hanging up was something other than what it was. If Tsukishima needs to test the waters a bit more, Koutarou will not hold it against him. 

They talk for a while after that, quiet anecdotes about the last week or so. Koutarou carefully keeps both his hands in sight the entire time, their conversation doing nothing to improve his situation. Something about knowing how much Tsukishima cares just makes it worse, and even Koutarou can’t pretend that he would be able to hide it. Already, this heat pulls at him, urging him to give into it. 

The end of their conversation is almost a relief. Almost, but not quite, because Koutarou wants to have Tsukishima’s voice in his ear as his fingers dip beneath his waistband. 

His bottom lip trembles as Koutarou wraps a hand around himself. The movement of his own hand might be the closest thing to relief he’s felt since Tsukishima murmured his given name. But it’s good, even when the heat threatens to consume him whole. Amazing when his vision turns white, and not nearly as terrified as he thought it would be. Having someone else with him, having three people push him along, is the only thing that could have made it better. 

A breathless laugh pulls Koutarou from his dazed state, and he narrows his eyes at shape in the doorway. 

“How long have you been here?” Koutarou asks, his voice thick. 

Kuroo sets his bag down, and then crosses the room. A hint of a grin is visible in the fluorescent light still shining through the window, and his shirt and jeans hit the floor as he pulls them off. Koutarou expects him to crawl into their bed, but all Kuroo grabs a couple tissues from the bedside table instead.

They both stay still under Koutarou realizes what Kuroo intends to do and nods. Then Kuroo sits on the edge of the bed and wipes from the mess from Koutarou’s stomach, slowly looking up when Koutarou inhales sharply. 

“About since you said goodbye to Tsukki,” Kuroo finally says. 

The words are too light to be anything but purposeful, and Koutarou feels his cheeks warm once more. He hadn’t noticed. Not when Kuroo entered the room, not at any point after that. 

Kuroo sets the tissue aside, laughing when Koutarou motions for him to get into bed. Today has been far too long for Koutarou to feel too embarrassed about this, even if he might be embarrassed in the morning. That original warmth that had been there when Koutarou was first talking to Tsukishima settles back in as he wraps himself around Kuroo, sleep just moments away now. 

“I accidentally called you Tetsu earlier,” Koutarou murmurs, half an afterthought as Kuroo moves an arm around his waist. 

Kuroo hums lightly. “Yeah?” 

“Mhmm, then Tsukki forced me to call him Kei.” 

“Forced?” Kuroo asks. “You sure you want to go with that?” 

Koutarou rolls his eyes, smile pressed against Kuroo’s neck, impossible to ignore. “Uh-huh, but he was nice about it. Mostly.” 

“Of course.” 

They laugh a bit, but Koutarou is hardly aware when Kuroo pulls the blanket up over them. The curtain must have been closed as some point too, because everything is darker than it was before, the light no longer in his eyes. 

“You know,” Kuroo says, and Koutarou has to struggle to open his eyes, “you can call me Tetsurou, if you want. Or Tetsu. It’s nice, coming from you.” 

“I’ve always wanted you to call me Koutarou.” 

Kuroo says something more, but the words barely register to Koutarou as words and sleep claims him a moment later.

.

.

.

None of them manage to find the time to see each other over winter break. They should, because winter break is three weeks long, but all of their plans fall through.

Koutarou, for one, finds his practices doubled for the break. Which is the best part about the break, because they wouldn’t be doubled if he doesn’t become a reserve for the upcoming season. Him and Oikawa both, although Oikawa pretends that it doesn’t mean anything to him. Koutarou doesn’t mention how hard Oikawa worked to get to this point.

The others have similar things to deal with. Akaashi has more exams to prepare for than he has time to sleep, while Tsukishima gets stuck visiting some sick great-aunt of his. And Kuroo has the time, but ends up spending most of it with Kenma. 

Being on the court again is more of a relief than Koutarou expected. All it takes is one practice match, one moment of being on the court in any official capacity, and he might as well soar through the air. Never has his spikes been so clean. Even the coach compliments him afterwards, says something about there being good things in his future if he keeps this up.

Of course Koutarou will keep this up. After being off of the official team for so long, Koutarou would do almost anything to stay where he is now. And he can, with him and Oikawa working together. Akaashi knew what he needed at any point, and Oikawa almost comes close to that level of intuition. They can do this, at least until Akaashi plays beside him once more. 

Koutarou sees that in Akaashi as well. 

Not noticing it would be impossible when him and Kuroo watch the Spring High Nationals. His lungs ache from cheering so much. Actually, everything aches, because Koutarou landed badly yesterday and bruised his hip, because there will be no victory in this match.

Akaashi is on the court, his jersey marking him as the captain. Some nameless person carries the number four jersey that was once Koutarou’s, but Koutarou hardly spares him a thought. Not when Tsukishima is on the other side of the court, alongside the rest of Karasuno. 

Koutarou has taken to cheering for both teams. Which is also why he won’t be able to speak tomorrow. 

“Hey.” 

He hums and doesn’t look away from the court. 

Kuroo doesn’t either. “Kou, they aren’t wearing their knee pads.” 

“What?” Koutarou asks, his eyes narrowing. 

“Their knee pads. Akaashi and Tsukki took them off.” 

Koutarou peers down at the court as he looks for the difference, not that he needs to look for long. With Tsukishima right in front of the net and Akaashi with his back to them, it takes a moment to notice the lack of knee pads. 

It takes Koutarou a moment longer to remember what those knee pads were hiding. His breath catches as Akaashi turns to compliment his teammate on a play. The slightest hint of his Marks are visible, dark against his fair skin. Koutarou has only seen them a couple times. Because both Akaashi and Tsukishima prefer to keep their Marks hidden away, instead of displaying them as obviously as they are now. 

His mouth goes dry at the realization of just how many people can see their Marks now. More than just the people on the court or in the stands, but everyone watching the livestream or the news broadcast tonight. It takes nearly everything Koutarou has not to storm down there and hug both of them, everything except the knowledge that he can once the match is over. 

Fukurodani looks unsurprised by the change, once the time out is called. Most of the team is gathered around Akaashi, but nothing is strange about that. Akaashi always has helpful advice. 

Koutarou can’t quite tell what Karasuno thinks, though. Except then Hinata flits over to Tsukishima, and a laugh breaks out from Koutarou as the small middle blocker jumps from side to side. And Yamaguchi stays back, but he glowers at the referees like the crows all of Karasuno embody. Everyone on that court must know how much it took for them to remove those knee pads. 

“We can see their Marks,” Koutarou says, just loud enough for Kuroo to hear. 

Kuroo reaches over to link their hands together, visible over the edge of the railing. “Everyone can see their Marks, Kou.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Can you believe they’re ours right now?” 

Koutarou shakes his head, the sentiment plucked from his own head. Two of his own Marks are on display right now, his sleeves too short to properly cover them. But watching this makes pulling his shirt off entirely feel like a good idea, just so everyone can see all three Marks. 

They should be seen. Many people keep their Marks private, but Koutarou is proud of the dark splashes of colour covering his arm. His Marks look like proper eyes now, eyes that are hidden behind bushes and tree, eyes that are not quite realistic, but rather painted in thick strokes. They are far from the three delicate-looking footprints on Akaashi’s thigh or the curling strokes of tree branches along Kuroo’s arm. 

None of them have actually seen Tsukishima’s Marks before, outside of that one glimpse Kuroo got of them. Koutarou tightens his grip on Kuroo’s hand when Tsukishima turns now, the back of his legs visible to both of them. Tsukishima is too far away for Koutarou to make out the details, but something is sprawled along the back of Tsukishima’s leg, before curling around towards his knee. 

Koutarou never thought it would be so large. 

Then the timer runs out, the whistle calling each time back to the court. Which is right where Akaashi and Tsukishima go, as if nothing has changed. Everything has changed, right down to the fact that Koutarou is no longer worried about who will win. 

Him and Kuroo are the ones who have truly won. They are the ones who have soulmates brave enough to display their Marks for so many people to see. Even though Akaashi was tormented in junior high for his Marks. Even though Tsukishima didn’t know his Marks existed until a year and a half ago. 

“Are you… crying?” Kuroo asks, as the teams ready themselves for a serve.

Koutarou blinks once, twice, then nods firmly. There is no denying how the backs of his eyes are burning. 

Admitting it out loud is a different story. His throat is too blocked up to even try cheering when someone scores, the sweaty hand gripping his own keeping him anchored in place. All Koutarou wants is for the three of them to know how much he cares about them. 

Kuroo hides a smile as he looks down at the court. “This is quite the way to say they love us, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Koutarou forces out, “it is.”

.

.

.

“I don’t believe you.”

Koutarou laughs at the dismissal. He is far too used to Oikawa to be bothered by it. Not being believed is better than any of the insults that Oikawa could have used, anyways. “I know you watched it. You always watch Karasuno.” 

“Only because Karasuno is disgusting, and every moment of them struggling is a joy.” Oikawa inhales sharply as he picks himself off the gymnasium floor, one hand supporting his knee. His brace is nowhere in sight, surprisingly. “What I actually can’t believe is that you and Glasses-kun are soulmates.” 

“Tsukki probably deserves a better soulmate than me,” Koutarou says, easily. 

Kei, a voice in his head whispers, sending a jolt of joy through him. 

All four of them had the time to talk last night, and the name had slipped. Koutarou doesn’t even know if anyone noticed, other than Kuroo. And that is because Kuroo hugged him after they hung up, a grin pressed into his collarbone. They have been hugging a lot since Nationals, kissing too. If Koutarou can make any of them feel even a fraction of what Nationals made him feel, then his job as their soulmate will be fulfilled. 

Oikawa stares at him, the oddest look on his face. There are no words for how his eyebrows knot together, except that Koutarou is being pulled apart piece by piece. A lot of spending time with Oikawa is like that, though, so there must be something different now. Otherwise, Oikawa wouldn’t be waiting for him to say something. 

“Your face is doing something weird,” Koutarou finally points out. 

Oikawa huffs and turns to look at the court, his lips pressed together. “Glasses-kun is lucky to have a soulmate who cares so much about him, I think you mean.” 

“Tsukki cares-” 

“Bokuto!” 

Koutarou jumps at the echoing shout, and he immediately drops his protest. 

Only the shout didn’t come from Oikawa, even if his shouts sometimes echo like that. There is exactly one person that could be. 

Koutarou slowly turns towards the source of the shout, grimacing. Their coach stands in the doorway of the gymnasium, his rumpled sweater not matching his small stature or the power of his voice. If that gaze were not focused on him, Koutarou would pretend that there was another Bokuto on their team. Maybe just another Bokuto in this part of Tokyo, really. 

Him and Oikawa exchange a look, but their coach has already started towards his office. Everyone other than Koutarou may as well be insects, when this happens. Judging by the glances Koutarou gets as he jogs across the gymnasium, being an insect might be better than this. 

To his knowledge, he hasn’t done anything wrong recently. Other than skipping practice to go to Akaashi and Tsukishima’s tournament, but half the team was there. And Oikawa said their coach implied that they could miss this one practice. Koutarou holds back a hysterical laugh. This would not be the first time a teammate has lied to him, not when Konoha lied to him for no reason at all throughout high school. 

Koutarou slows once he reaches the office, and then he lingers awkwardly in the doorway. Every instinct he has is telling him that something must be wrong. Or the coach would be absentmindedly flipping through the paperwork covering his desk, instead of watching him. 

“Close the door behind you,” the coach tells him. 

That might be an invitation to enter. 

Koutarou still hesitates before doing just that, careful to make sure that the door clicks shut behind him. The quiet only lasts a moment, before a shout filters through the door as practice starts up again. 

“I… promise I didn’t know what Tsukki and Akaashi were planning?” he guesses. 

His coach blinks. “Excuse me?” 

“Uh, Tsukishima from Karasuno and-”

“Oh.” The coach leans back in his chair with a frown. “I wondered if that had anything to do with you, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” 

“It’s not?” Koutarou asks, meekly. 

“Of course not.”

Koutarou waits for him to continue, not quite certain what else to do. 

Both of them exist there in silence as the coach redirects his gaze to his cluttered desk, lips pressed into a thin line. How often has Koutarou been in this exact position, only for his coach to start shuffling through stray pieces of paper or check something on his computer? More than he wants to admit, at least. 

But there is no fidgeting to relieve the tension. No readjusting papers or checking emails, nothing that suggests his coach has something more important than this to do. Which is why Koutarou waits, waits for something to break this tense silence, waits for his coach to organize himself. 

A sigh breaks the silence first. “As of today, you will be a starter.” 

Koutarou jerks back. “But-” 

“But,” his coach easily interrupts, “Komaru broke his wrist at some party over the weekend, which puts him off the court for at least six weeks. Our next game is in two weeks. By the time Komaru is cleared to play, you will be a better player than him, anyways.” 

“Oh, I - really?” 

“Yes, really,” the coach informs him. 

There is more to it than that, it turns out. Details of which practices Koutarou needs to attend, speckled with compliments about his progress over this past year. 

Those things fade to the background. Koutarou may as well be somewhere else entirely when he goes back to practice, his body present, but his mind not. Only once he pushes his key into the lock on his front door does he remember himself, does he realize how badly he wants to fall into bed and never come out again. 

The smell of food prevents Koutarou from doing exactly that after he closes the door behind him. His feet bring him into the kitchen, his bag abandoned in the hallway. Food means people means Kuroo, and Koutarou wants a hug almost more than he wants to sleep. 

Anything other than the complicated press of emotion from every angle would be nice, right about now. Except when Koutarou steps into the kitchen, someone a lot shorter than Kuroo is moving around beside the oven. 

Yaku looks over his shoulder, just when Koutarou is about to turn back around. “You’re back early.” 

“Yeah,” he says, because that’s all he can say. 

“You… okay?” 

“Uh-huh, I just…”

Yaku nods before Koutarou can come up with a way to finish that sentence, and waves a hand towards the other end of the apartment. “Kuroo just got back. He wanted to take a nap before dinner, I think.” 

The way Yaku goes back to cooking dinner is more than enough of an excuse not to say anything more. Even if Koutarou wanted to respond, his throat may as well be jammed full of cotton. 

Maybe Komaru feels this way too. He must, now that his position on a competitive university-level team is gone, all because of one mistake. Not to mention Komaru has been replaced by some first year who just became a reserve the month before. Koutarou would never be able to sit on the sidelines as his future in volleyball dwindles away to nothing. 

But there are so many questions to ask, starting with the decision to have him replace Komaru. Now Koutarou has to stand on that court, entirely aware that his place there rightfully belongs to someone else. Entirely aware that other, more experienced people could have taken Komaru’s place. Half of the team has never been in an official game, and his six or seven months of waiting does not compare to how long they’ve waited. 

The bedroom door slams behind him, Koutarou wincing as Kuroo nearly jumps out of bed. 

He wasn’t quite asleep, then. 

Kuroo immediately seeks Koutarou out, his eyes nearly black in the faint light of the room. “Kou?” 

Koutarou crosses the room. His feet have never felt so light, have never made him feel like he’s walking on clouds, if only for the second it takes for him to collapse onto the bed. 

Arms hesitantly move around him as Kuroo regains himself, their grip tightening until all Koutarou can hear and feel and smell is Kuroo. The rest of the world does not quite fade away. That would be better than this, than the memory of standing in that cramped office with paperwork covering every flat surface and his coach frowning at him. It would be better than the words echoing through his head or the knowledge that Komaru will never play on their team again sitting uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. 

“What happened?” Kuroo asks, the words thick with sleep. 

Koutarou slowly shakes his head. 

Words will not change this like the fingers resting on the back of his neck will. Those fingers are so gentle, even as they shift upwards to run through his hair. Kuroo is always gentle with him. 

He does not deserve this gentleness. Kuroo should be scolding him right now, instead of comforting him. There is no excuse for taking another person’s spot on the team, for ruining their chances of being scouted by professional teams or even just playing for the rest of their university career. 

“Koutarou,” Kuroo breathes out, when Koutarou does not say a word, “I can’t help you, if I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing. It’s… nothing,” comes his answer, and for the first time all afternoon, the words come easily to him. “I just want to stay like this for a while.” 

“Okay. I can do that.” 

The way Kuroo tugs him further into bed should make him feel fussed over, but Koutarou is just grateful. He is grateful for the lack of questions, for Kuroo not pushing more than this. 

They lay there for a long time. Long enough that the warmth and weight of being held claims him as their own, a reminder that Koutarou would stay like this forever, if the world didn’t insist on moving around him. Long enough that his hunger half-heartedly registers in the haze of everything else. 

Long enough that the emotion pressing in from each side fades beneath the surface, finally allowing Koutarou to breathe a bit easier. There is no room for guilt with Kuroo right there, a constant that Koutarou gladly structures his life around. But Koutarou still has to deal with those emotions himself. Hugs help, the rise and fall of Kuroo’s chest helps, but the only one who can make this better is himself.

.

.

.

There are a few questions about Komaru over the next couple weeks, but no one questions that Koutarou is the one to take his place. Instead, they push for him to practice with different setters to see what works and what doesn’t work.

They want Koutarou to become the best spiker he can be. There is no need to climb a steep cliff, to desperately reach for something just outside of his grasp. The lack of scrambling to be recognized leaves Koutarou capable of breathing again. Each minute of practice is a breath of fresh air, is supported by the knowledge that this is where he wants to be. Even Komaru watching from the sidelines, his arm in a cast, does not change that. 

It helps that when Koutarou finally tells Kuroo the news, he gets swept up into a spin, surrounded by thrilled laughter. 

Akaashi recognizes his hesitance when Koutarou calls him that first night. He recognizes it and responds, his quiet steadiness enough to convince Koutarou that this opportunity is his to enjoy. Komaru got himself drunk, and was the one who tried to show off while drunk. Koutarou couldn’t have changed that, even if he had been at the party. 

The conversation soothes some of the guilt Koutarou feels, along with the frustration of becoming a starter because of someone else’s mistake. As does Kuroo’s hugs, and Tsukishima’s dismissal of his protests, followed by a light promise to come to his games. 

All of them care so much. 

Koutarou nearly doesn’t know to deal with how full their support makes him feel. Throwing that support away to focus on anything else might even be easy, if he wanted to take the easy route. But Koutarou does not want to take the easy route. He never has. 

Which is why he lets that support fill him up when he steps onto the court, two weeks later. There is no room for doubt or guilt, no space for any hesitance, because that will mean proving that doubt right. That will mean letting Kuroo, Akaashi and Tsukishima down, and that is one thing Koutarou refuses to do, regardless of the circumstances. 

This gymnasium is similar to so many others Koutarou has played in. 

The ceiling is high overhead, the floor squeaky beneath his feet. Someone grips his shoulder as they pass him, leaving him to cover up a laugh when it turns out to be Oikawa. The other team gets into position on the other side of the net, the clock ticking down the seconds until the game starts. 

All it takes is one glance up at the stands to spot Kuroo and Tsukishima leaning against the railing, talking quietly. Akaashi had been too busy preparing for his entrance exams to come, but Koutarou knows exactly where each of them wants to be right now. He knows, because they told him in their own ways. Maybe not directly, but Koutarou wasn’t given the chance to mistake it for something else. 

Confidence wins over doubt, because of them. Confidence carries him onto the court, those last few steps reminding him of every match he has ever won. Confidence makes him grin, content in his place on this team. 

The whistle blows and locks that confidence in, reminding him of exactly what he can do. Koutarou was one of the highest ranked spikers in high school for a reason, and each person watching this match will know that reason. This is his opportunity to show everyone what he’s capable of, what a year of training has done for him. It is a lot more than most would guess, but him and Oikawa were the last ones left in the gym more often than not.

The game is unlike any other. 

Koutarou does not miss a single spike, the rhythm of the game almost simple to fall back into. And the rest of the team reacts in kind, just as they always did at Fukurodani. Maybe not to the same extent, not to the ease of playing alongside Akaashi, but close. Close enough that each point they score lifts Koutarou up a bit further, regardless of who scored it. When the final point is scored in their favour, it is almost a disappointment that Koutarou cannot bring himself higher. 

Games that drag themselves out are the best sort of games, but this is not that. This game feels like a single moment, a warm up for something more. 

It is the start of something, something that also exists in his teammates gathering around him. 

In shaking hands with the other team. 

In bowing to the people in the stands, Kuroo and Tsukishima included. 

But going through the motions of a cool down is not the start of something more, at least not in this moment. There is too much energy caught inside him, demanding that he do more and more and more. Another two matches might have worn it away, but they don’t even have practice until tomorrow morning. 

All Koutarou has is Kuroo and Tsukishima waiting for him outside the gymnasium. The air is heavy around them, almost warm now that spring is so close. They watch him as he steps outside to join them, so close that Koutarou cannot deny how much he wants them in that moment. The realization hits him all at once, a shock that travels from his heart out to his fingertips and down to his toes. 

Throwing himself at them only makes that want grow, because they are both so solid beneath him. Solid and real and here, his arms around their shoulders pulling them closer together. 

Kuroo automatically shifts to support his weight, one arm around his waist. “You were amazing out there,” he says. 

The words come so easily to Kuroo that Koutarou laughs, breathless. 

If anything or anyone could have made this feeling grow, it would be them. It will always be them, whether it’s here on this warm day bordering on spring or thirty years from now, doing who knows what. 

“He’s right,” Tsukishima adds, and he places a hand on Koutarou’s hip, the contact countering the cool drawl of his voice. “You usually choke when it comes to things like this.” 

That particular truth does not feel like an insult, not when it’s coming from Tsukishima. It’s praise in its own way, the subtle pride settling beneath it. Both of them carry that pride inside them, all of it directed at Koutarou. They might have to get on a bus and go home soon, but all Koutarou wants is to stay right here and soak in this warmth for as long as can. 

His head drops forward to hide his grin. Holding it back would be impossible, but it feels so open, so vulnerable that he doesn’t know how Kuroo and Tsukishima would react to it. Already, he feels weightless, and not just because his feet can barely touch the ground when he’s thrown himself over them. This is for them, though, even as the door opens and closes behind him, followed by Oikawa’s voice. 

“You okay, Kou?” Kuroo asks him.

Koutarou looks up again.

That grin catches on his face and he exhales when he sees the sentiment reflected back at him. “I want-” 

The rest of that declaration is not quite willing to come out yet, but Kuroo and Tsukishima must understand. There is no other explanation for the glint in Tsukishima’s eyes or the way the smile slowly drops from Kuroo’s face. 

“Iwa-chan,” comes Oikawa’s voice from behind him, “are we leaving or not?” 

“I thought you wanted to talk to someone,” a gruff voice answers. 

“What I _want_ is to go back home!” 

Koutarou stifles a laugh at both Oikawa and the complain that follows his announcement. He should turn around and talk to Oikawa for a few minutes, but forcing himself to step away, even just to talk about the match for a few minutes, is too much to bear. Kuroo and Tsukishima are too close for that. 

Plus, Tsukishima is wearing the most hilarious expression, his nose scrunched up and his lips pulled tight. Never has he looked so disgusted to see someone, not even when he had just known them for a few short weeks. Back when Tsukishima seemed convinced that he wasn’t made to have soulmates, that his Marks were some joke the universe pulled on him. 

“Tsukki,” Koutarou starts, his hesitancy to speak fading as Oikawa and his friend walk away, “can you stay tonight?” 

It would be impossible to miss Kuroo’s sharp inhale or the fingers digging into Koutarou’s hip as the question lingers between them, far more telling than Koutarou intended. He doesn’t take it back. Not even when Tsukishima’s face goes slack, his irritation now nothing more than a dream.

“I-” 

Tsukishima stops himself, pulled away by his sudden refusal to look at them.

“Do you really want this?” Kuroo cuts in, his attention entirely focused on Koutarou. “You and Tsukki, I mean.” 

The desire building inside him pours out all at once. “Of course I want him. I want him _and_ you, Tetsu. If-” his confidence falters for the first time all afternoon, and Koutarou pushes back a pout - “if Akaashi were here, I’d want him to stay tonight too.” 

“Shit, Koutarou,” Kuroo says, breathless. 

Koutarou smiles sheepishly and lets his gaze slide back towards Tsukishima. 

Only Tsukishima is staring back at him, his jaw no longer slack with surprise. There is heat in that dark gaze of his, hotter than the handprint being branded into Koutarou’s hip, refusing to move even now. 

“I can’t,” Tsukishima finally says, his voice strained. “I only have a couple hours before my train leaves, and Ennoshita has already threatened to kill me if I skip tomorrow’s practice too.” 

His smile falters. 

Few things sound better than all four of them being together. That much has accumulated inside Koutarou for much longer than he’s been able to put the feeling into words. Kuroo and Akaashi have mentioned this before, about how there would be no hard feelings if anything happened without the other around. 

But Tsukishima was never a part of that conversation. Not because they intended to leave him out, but because bringing up sex before him and Kuroo moved in together would have made things worse. Even mentioning that their relationship with Tsukishima was anything more than friendship would have ended badly. This time last year, they would have never otten close to this point. 

Kuroo groans, which means that this falter of Koutarou’s was more obvious than intended. He doesn’t complain as he moves out from underneath Koutarou’s arm, though, leaving just enough room for Tsukishima to properly lean over. 

Kissing Tsukishima is a bit like coming home to the people Koutarou cares about most. His mouth opens automatically, not a moment wasted as Koutarou directs the desire built inside him at Tsukishima. It may not be the most skilled kiss, but that makes it no less perfect. With Tsukishima kissing him, it will always be perfect. Tsukishima, Kuroo and Akaashi will always kiss Koutarou like he wants to be kissed. 

The single complaint Koutarou has is that Tsukishima pulls away too soon, leaving him to chase after those soft lips. The world feels far away, difficult to grasp more than Kuroo standing beside them. Koutarou could do this forever, could get lost in this feeling of being loved.

“Can I?” Kuroo asks, and Koutarou finds himself nodding without thought. 

Only Kuroo doesn’t move towards him, instead cupping Tsukishima’s jaw and turning it towards him. Koutarou’s breath catches as he watches the two of them kiss. Watching is a different experience than kissing itself, it seems. 

It is hard to think while Koutarou is kissing someone, hard to grasp anything other than the who and the where and what. Like this, Koutarou can see Tsukishima melt into Kuroo, can see how Kuroo tilts his head, so that neither of them have an opportunity to breathe. He can see their swollen lips, the flush on their cheeks. 

Koutarou can’t decide whether he likes kissing or watching them kiss more. 

They stop before Koutarou is ready for them to, his mouth still open when Kuroo turns towards him. Their kiss is short in comparison, which is for the best. Koutarou would not be able to handle anything more than this. 

Tsukishima sighs, once they part. “I should go.” 

“You sure?” Kuroo asks. 

The look Tsukishima gives him in return could eviscerate someone. “Well, I could sit around your apartment while you and Bokuto sit around, doing nothing.” 

“We could wait, if you want,” Koutarou says, awkwardly. 

“Don’t.” Tsukishima licks his lips, thoroughly distracted. “Just know I’ll be thinking about both of you tonight and we can call it even.” 

A low whine escapes from the back of his throat at the suggestion, but Tsukishima carefully does not meet his eyes. He does nothing except extract himself from them, shoulders hunched forward as he leaves with just a vague wave over his shoulder. 

Koutarou wants to run after him, Miyagi and practice and everything else be damned. He doesn’t. If asking Tsukishima to spend the night with him and Kuroo hadn’t been pushing too far, then that would be. Except Kuroo tugs him towards the bus stop before Koutarou can linger on it further. His head is in a haze the entire bus ride back, the heat of Kuroo’s thigh pressed against his own keeping him anchored in place. Want is coiled tight inside him, his self restraint tearing itself to pieces as they get closer and closer to home. 

Nothing happens once they step into their apartment. None of the scenarios running through his head come into existence, not after the grumble of his stomach interrupts them once Kuroo cups his jaw. 

But then they both go to bed early, the apartment otherwise abandoned for the night. 

The spark flares back into existence as Koutarou straddles Kuroo’s hips and he grins down at his boyfriend while he touches bare skin. Everything about Kuroo is so soft, so perfect as Kuroo grips at the collar of his shirt and tugs him down into a desperate kiss. 

The world narrows down to the two of them, to the rhythm of their bodies as they move in unison. Kuroo wraps a hand around both of them at one point, but that is nothing compared to seeing Kuroo come undone, composure entirely lost because of Koutarou. Perfect, is what Koutarou murmurs against Kuroo’s jaw, is what makes Kuroo laugh before it cuts into a low moan. 

“You were so great today, Kou,” Kuroo whispers into his hair as they lie in bed, afterwards. 

Koutarou smiles, his eyes dragging themselves close. “Love you too, Tetsu.”

.

.

.

After all this time, being in Fukurodani’s gymnasium is strange.

Akaashi gives curt instructions to the team, but that isn’t the strange part. He gave instructions to the team while Koutarou was captain as well. All that has changed are the team members. Except for Suzumeda and Onaga, who grin at Koutarou as he lingers along the edges of the gym, not quite certain what to do. 

His weight shifts from foot to foot, attention only partially focused on the instructions. The rest of it is focused on Akaashi himself, but none of the orders are directed at him. Nothing to make him feel less awkward about what he’s supposed to be doing here. 

After the team goes off in their separate directions, Akaashi wanders towards him, his usual stoicism slipping into something softer. Something meant specifically for Koutarou, something that makes his smile grow as Akaashi gets closer to him. Koutarou has missed this, even if it’s just being in Fukurodani’s gym with Akaashi. 

Akaashi settles in beside him, one eye on the team. “Kuroo told me what happened last week.”

His smile freezes in place.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says, his tone just a touch off scolding, “I’m glad.” 

“You… are?” 

“Of course. I wasn’t going to mention it until later, but you were worried about it.”

Koutarou blinks. 

The knot in his chest does make more sense, now that Akaashi has pointed that out to him. And judging by the way Akaashi watches from the corner of his eye, he already figured out that Koutarou had been confused by his own nervousness. 

This is just like Akaashi. His smile breaks into something wider, the way Akaashi’s shoulders relax unimportant to everyone other than him. Koutarou never wants to go so long without seeing Akaashi again, not if he can help it. But what he really wants to know is how much time Akaashi has spent thinking about him and Kuroo having sex. 

Koutarou lets that particular topic drop for the moment. “I did want-” 

“I know,” Akaashi cuts in, before Koutarou can voice the last thing lingering on his mind. “You wouldn’t be you, if you didn’t want all of us.” 

He hesitates, not quite certain if that was a compliment or an insult. 

There is a small chance that he’s told Kuroo about wanting all of them together. A smaller chance that he’s repeated the sentiment every few hours for the last week. Koutarou can’t help it. He wants them to be together. He wants to love his soulmates as much as possible, in every way he can, and sex is just another part of that. 

There is a slight uplift to Akaashi’s lips when Koutarou pointedly turns his attention to the team. Akaashi did ask him here for a reason. Although, if that was just an excuse for Koutarou to come see him, then that would be alright too. Entrance exams have only be finished for a few days now, and Koutarou intends on taking advantage of every moment he can spend with Akaashi from here on out. 

“A couple of our spikers have been struggling with their straights.” Koutarou perks up at the admission, and tries to pick them out from the others on the team. “I thought you could help them.” 

His grin is undeniable. 

All of his life has been leading up to this moment. This exact moment as Koutarou waits for spiking practice to begin, so that he can be the perfect mentor to these volleyball players. 

“You’re the best, Akaashi,” Koutarou breathes out, momentarily glancing back at Akaashi. 

His timing could not be any better, because he’s greeted by a soft smile that could only belong to Akaashi. “I’m happy to hear that.”


	14. iv: Akaashi Keiji

Nationals are not a break from studying. 

Keiji knows this down to his bones, because volleyball means more to him than time away from the exam booklets on his desk. No matter how many booklets there are or how long Keiji spends working through them. 

Maybe volleyball doesn't mean as much to him as it does to Bokuto or even Kuroo. Bokuto always speaks about highs and lows, about the high of a successful spike. And Kuroo gets this glint in his eyes, a desire for more that he never puts into words. Keiji loves watching them on the court as his heart pounds away in his chest. 

Being on the court without Bokuto has taken some of the magic out of volleyball, just as exam preparation has taken the anticipation out of graduation. But Fukurodani is depending on him, and that is enough to make Keiji stay. 

Only Tsukishima knows about his doubt when it comes to volleyball. Training camp after training camp tends to reveal things that Keiji would prefer to keep hidden, even with his underclassmen blissfully unaware. Playing has always been a source of pride for him, but Bokuto and Kuroo never seem to waver in their desire to play. 

That need to play is intimidating, in some ways. 

"Stop that." 

Keiji blinks and focuses his attention back on his open laptop. "I'm sorry?" 

"For what?" Tsukishima asks, but the bite beneath his words is closer to begrudging fondness. "You're one worrying about stupid things." 

"These exams-" 

"Oh? I hadn't noticed you paying attention to those booklets tonight." 

Keiji falters, Tsukishima's tone the right shade of accusatory, and he looks down at the open booklet on his desk. The only reason he's able to make time for these conversation is because he studies during them, half-focused on the questions and half on whoever he's talking to. 

But right now, the open page is unmarked and the questions themselves are unfamiliar to him. Neither can Keiji remember if he's flipped the page since he started the video call with Tsukishima. That Keiji cannot fire a similar accusation back at Tsukishima only proves how distracted he's been. 

Tsukishima smirks, leaning forward to rest his chin on the palm of his hand. "I don't know why you bothered tonight, anyways. Nationals begins tomorrow." 

"Nationals is why I'm trying to study now," Keiji says, but his rebuttal rings hollow. "I won't get many more opportunities to study until the tournament is over." 

"Uh-huh." 

They stare at one another, the screen between them briefly freezing, but neither of them are willing to give up so easily. 

Neither of them want to look away quite yet, which is why Keiji does, his lips smoothed out into a flat line. The last six months have been difficult, to say the least. Him and Tsukishima have seen each other at training camps, but even that pales in comparison to last summer. 

Even if Keiji hadn't seen Tsukishima since last summer, forgetting their kiss at the train station would be difficult. Just one kiss, immediately joined by a list of moments Keiji will never forget. The smirk playing across Tsukishima's face reminds him of those moments, even if it's not quite the same expression. That had been something more off-guard, a confused fondness that Tsukishima always tries to hide. 

"Nationals isn't the problem either," Keiji gives in. 

Tsukishima hums and waits for Keiji to continue. 

Keiji wouldn't be able to explain how grateful that silence makes him, not even if he were pushed to. But he still smiles softly. "It feels as if there's a wall in front of me. I know that I'll get over it, but the climbing itself has been wearing on me." 

"Like playing half a dozen practice matches against Dateko." Tsukishima wrinkles his nose at his own comment. "I could lend you some rebellious underlings, if you want someone to take it out on. No one will miss them too much." 

"Ennoshita and Ukai wouldn't be considering you for vice captain if they didn't look up to you." Tsukishima glowers at him, but Keiji does not back down, a previous conversation about telling Bokuto and Kuroo lingering beneath his comment. Then he sighs and moves on, "Someone was talking about Bokuto the other day." 

Tsukishima snorts, the tension gone in an instant. "Wait, is this your way of saying you got suspended again? Or did you simply expel you for punching someone out in the middle of class this time." 

"Neither." 

"Oh?" 

"They saw his match the other week. The one I couldn't make it to," Keiji amends. 

Tsukishima watches him for a long moment, so far away and so close all at once. Both sitting on his desk and all the way in Miyaki. "Bokuto and Kuroo are living out their lives in Tokyo, and you can't even watch," he finally says, and his head tilts to the side, the light catching on his glasses. "Disconnected, right?" 

Keiji drops his gaze down to that open booklet, that piece of himself laid bare to see. In retrospect, it makes sense that Tsukishima is capable of seeing through him so easily, but - but knowing that another person understands makes him feel a bit less like he's drowning. 

Everything will be easier soon. Nationals will be over, then exams will consume his life for another couple months. Keiji won't have the opportunity to linger on that disconnection with everything else going on. There won't be time for anything until he's packing his things to move to Tokyo. Feeling disconnected from Bokuto and Kuroo will be next to impossible when he's living with them. 

In a few months, Keiji will wake up each morning to Bokuto's leg thrown over him, to Kuroo's arm draped over his waist. His soulmates will surround him, and this period away won't be for nothing. 

Reaching out to them will be easier than ever, just a murmured comment here or there rather than haphazardly planned video calls and day trips. Keiji has been looking forward to this for a long time. Maybe he wasn't ready to live with them three years ago or even six months ago, but he is now.

"Remember that feeling," Tsukishima tells him, and his words cut down to the truth of the situation.

Tsukishima won't be there. 

Not yet.

Instead, Tsukishima will be on the other side of the country for another year, and that means something, no matter how well he hides it. Keiji sees the edges of the mask now, sees how this has been grating at Tsukishima for who knows how long. 

Disconnection is something Tsukishima knows well. 

And he has to experience it for a while longer still. 

Keiji watches him, bits and pieces of something forming. "I will. There is... something I think I'd like to do first, though. If you're willing to join me." 

How anyone could think that Tsukishima is more comfortable hiding his emotions is beyond him. The change is subtle, but still there. Present and likely similar to whenever Keiji doesn't react as obviously as some might expect, because the slightest tilt of Tsukishima's mouth makes a world of difference. 

"I'm listening," Tsukishima says. 

.

.

.

Their plan comes together three matches into Nationals, as Keiji stares at Tsukishima from the other side of the court. 

A distraction like this is something he'd normally never consider, but being on this court makes impossible things possible. Keiji had nearly forgotten how everything slows to a stop, where each moment turns into five. This is one of the only places where he has complete control, where standing in the spotlight fills him with a confidence he hardly ever experiences. 

Knowing that Kuroo and Bokuto are watching from the stands can only add to that confidence. As does watching Tsukishima block a spike with skill he didn't have a year and a half ago. They're here for him, with him, and that steadies him. Keiji would be invincible if Tsukishima weren't on the other side of the net, but his sets are rarely this accurate.

The ball is never so light on his fingertips.

The first set passes without incident. Karasuno wins that set, but Keiji already warned the rest of Fukurodani that this would happen. The second set is more important, as is the third, although that will drag on into a contest of stamina rather than skill. Matches with Karasuno, official or otherwise, always go like that. 

Keiji allows the play-by-play wash over him as Fukurodani stands around the bench. His underclassmen no longer turn to him to verify each of their observation, and he feels a pang of pride at the realization. They'll make it through the next year without him, even if they have to update him every week to be certain. 

Keiji wouldn't mind that in the slightest. 

Then Tsukishima catches his eye from the other side of the court, understanding passing between them. 

It's time. 

Fukurodani was warned about Keiji's intentions this morning, but their focus still wavers when Keiji sits on the bench. They fall silent when Keiji hooks his thumb beneath his knee pad, the cover for his Marks caught in the same motion. His heart beats faster as he slips it down his thigh and over his foot. 

Lingering on the Marks sprawling across his leg is not an option, not with thirty seconds left before the second set. But Keiji already feels different. Different from the boy who watched his only friend run at the sight of his Marks. Different from the slightly older boy who tried to hide his Marks, right up until a teammate caught him and told the entire school about what Keiji was hiding. Many people wear their Marks for everyone to see, Bokuto and Kuroo included, but Keiji hasn't been that person for years.

Up until a few days ago, Keiji thought he would never be that person again. 

That bravery and pride is reserved for people like Bokuto and Kuroo. They're the sorts of people who take rejection and denied it power over them, who bear their Marks and their love proudly, no matter what forms it takes. 

Keiji spares a glance at his Marks and smiles slightly. No longer are they three x's imprinted onto his thigh, and they haven't been for a long time. But the last time Keiji saw them, the Marks hadn't doubled. 

Now, each mark has a twin, barely touching its original. Keiji places a hand over them, then looks back across the court. Tsukishima has been pulled into a group cheer, and his kneepad lies abandoned by the bench. Just as they planned. 

"You sure about this?" 

Keiji blinks, but Yamaji simply raises an eyebrow, the slight curve to his smile neither unkind or disappointed. "I am." 

"Good, because you can't take this one back." Yamaji hesitates, then glances up at the stands. "I suppose I should prepare the officials for that whirlwind of a boy to storm onto the court." 

"He doesn't know I'm doing this," Keiji says. 

"Figured. He'll be pleased either way, no doubt about it." 

A smile tugs at Keiji's lips, but this is no time to stand around. The lack of time right here and now is so different from the desperation creeping up on him. Different in that Keiji would not rush through these next couple sets for the world, not if he could do anything about it. 

Magic runs through his veins as he steps back onto the court. Not everyone will notice his Marks at first, but anyone can see them, see the three separate Marks that represent his soulmates. Gravity ceases to exist once the set starts, and his confidence amplifies tenfold. His awareness of his Marks does not fade, but the freedom from having them on display grows. 

The outcome of the match itself no longer matters. 

What does matter is that Keiji turns this into the best match he's ever played. If no moments of what he could have done better play across the backs of his eyes tonight, then Keiji will be satisfied. He will have won in his own way and on his own terms. 

With Tsukishima on the other side of that net, staring him down whenever he sets the ball, it may as well be his win when the last whistle is blown. His lungs struggle to regain his breath, and his thighs shake under the weight of an entire day on the court, but Keiji feels victorious. His teammates are crying, their time on the court having ended abruptly, but Keiji would not wish a better ending to being on this team. 

Winning the finals without Bokuto at his side never would have felt right to him. 

Being a part of Fukurodani without Bokuto had never felt right to him.

Which is why Keiji laughs when he feels himself get lifted up into the air, that whirlwind of a boy having finally made his way down to the stands. He doesn't pull away when Kuroo kisses the top of his head, and he tugs Tsukishima down into a kiss after the teams have shaken hands, after they've bowed to the stands. 

"I -" Keiji glances at Tsukishima, before correcting, "-we did this for you." 

"I know." Bokuto beams at him with all the force of the sun. "It's amazing." 

Kuroo laughs, even as Tsukishima scrunches up his nose. "What Kou said. Amazing." 

.

.

.

After everything is said and done, exams are almost easier than Nationals. 

Keiji could take advantage of one of the sports scholarships offered to him, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes the entrance exam to each of the universities he wants to get into, each one feeling more and more dreamlike. Like Keiji has all the answers at his fingertips, hours and hours of studying coming back to him at once. 

There is one potential scholarship that Keiji spends more time considering than the others. To the same school that Bokuto goes to, to be on the same team that Bokuto plays on. 

Playing volleyball could be the rest of his life. Keiji knows without question that playing alongside Bokuto would bring out the most of his skills once more, maybe improving both of them. They would graduate together, because Bokuto would spread his courses out another year without a word, and Keiji would work as hard as possible to keep up. Another team might pick them up after they graduate, and they'd move onto play professionally.

Bokuto might do that anyways. 

And Keiji wants to see how far Bokuto can go. 

Except.

Except not from the front lines. Keiji wants something else, but this is the first time he's thought so much about what he wants. Volleyball is a hobby, one that he'll continue with for the rest of his life. It isn't something Keiji can see himself doing at a professional level, if he's honest with himself. 

Being an accountant, like his mother, is equally as unlikely. Numbers make sense to him, and they always have. But there is something about that last match of Nationals that Keiji wants to chase after, and he knows he won't find it there. 

He doesn't quite know where he'll find it. 

There must be something about those last two sets of his match with Karasuno that he can recreate. That brief time haunts his dreams when formulas and English phrases should, instead. It consumes him so thoroughly that he asks Bokuto to help the first and second years during his last practice with Fukurodani without overthinking it. Those couple hours of playing on the court with Bokuto is different as well. Not quite what Keiji needs it to be, and maybe that's okay. 

The three of them will support him, no matter what Keiji decides. He knows this as easily as he knows how to breathe, because that is exactly what he would do if their positions were reversed. 

Supporting them comes so easily to him, that it scares him sometimes. 

The graduation ceremony sneaks up on him in the meantime, but those thoughts continue to consume him as he crosses the stage. 

He already experienced one ceremony last year, when Bokuto graduated and promised him that things wouldn't change between them. That there was still a Fukurodani for Keiji without him around. This feels different, as if Keiji is finally admitting that there was never a place for him at Fukurodani without Bokuto. 

In some way, it is a relief when the principal starts his closing remarks. Everything comes to an end, and a year of anticipation has come to an end. The ceremony might be identical to the one from the year before, despite the principal talking about how each group of students that walks through the front doors of Fukurodani is different. Keiji is more interested in moving forward, despite his lack of a plan leaving him off-kilter. 

The only thing Keiji would change is having Bokuto, Kuroo and Tsukishima here. 

He sees the volleyball team gathered near the back of the gymnasium, but that isn't quite the same. Not quite the same, but a blessing in its own way. Keiji can move forward, can turn this into a beginning rather than an ending with them sending him off. 

"Congratulations," the principal finally says. 

Just like that, everything starts anew.

.

.

.

The front door is already open when Keiji gets to his new apartment. Which would be more concerning if Keiji hadn't just watched the Kuroo family car driving away, Kuroo's mother grinning at them as she passed them on the street. The same grin that Kuroo gives them, crooked along the edges, although Keiji safely pushes that thought away. 

Walking into the apartment is different from knowing that Kuroo and Bokuto are already inside. His own father rummages through the things in the back of the car, likely debating where he should start first. Likely with the suitcases in the back, because the things in the back seat need to be carefully extracted or everything will come crashing to the ground. 

The Akaashi family is known for packing tightly, but that says nothing about being able to unpack. 

Keiji swallows and focuses back on the open door in front of him. Packing and unpacking is something he can worry about after he's looked at the apartment. 

Leaving Kuroo and Bokuto to go apartment hunting by themselves was likely a mistake. Keiji should have been there with them. Nevermind that there had been so many other things happening that Keiji only had a few days to breathe before he had to start packing his things. 

Either way, this is where he'll be living for the next year. 

Keiji takes a cautious first step into the apartment, feeling entirely justified when he spots nearly a dozen shoes shoved into an open closet door. 

Which is nothing compared to the screech the front door makes when Keiji pushes it the rest of the way open. Hints of a conversation inside the apartment drop away into silence as Keiji considers the open kitchen and living room. He blinks once, then twice, then slowly reaches up to rub his eyes. 

His vision is no clearer than it was a moment ago, which should be wrong. This is wrong. But not in a bad way, like Keiji was expecting. At best, he expected they would pick out a half-decent apartment like their last one, maybe even something exactly like their last apartment. On the worse end of that spectrum, Keiji thought he would have to turn around and leave, only to return once they had a place all three of them could stand living in. 

This apartment is neither of those things. It might look different once the living room and kitchen are no longer filled with boxes, but that will just make it look bigger than it does now. His head spins at the thought, at the implication of what something like this must cost with the clean walls and wide windows that let in so much light. 

"Akaashi!" 

Keiji startles out of his thoughts, then stumbles back as Bokuto crashes into him with all the enthusiasm of a gale force wind. A bright smiles shines up at Keiji, hardly giving him a moment to regain his breath before Bokuto hoists him into the air, arms firm around him. 

"You're here," Bokuto says, breathless. He is as bright as the sun itself, so visibly amazed that Keiji can only smile back at him, soft emotion filling him to the brim. "Tetsu thought you were a serial killer." 

"I did not!" comes a sharp insertion from further inside the apartment. 

Keiji looks up, unsurprised to see Kuroo grinning at him from the hallway. 

He raises an eyebrow, and just like that, the bits and pieces of his life fall into place once more. Not all of them, not even close to all of them, but enough that Keiji feels like he's standing on firm ground for the first time since his match with Karasuno. 

Stable might be a better word, given that Bokuto is still refusing to let him down to the ground. Keiji doesn't protest that, doesn't say anything, instead giving in and turning Bokuto's face towards him. Then he leans down to press their lips together, the grip Bokuto has on him nearly faltering. Keiji hooks his legs around Bokuto's waist, prepared for that moment of surprise, and coaxes Bokuto into kissing him back. 

The world is different when Keiji pulls away again. Not just because Kuroo's smirking face is the one of the first things Keiji sees, his other soulmate pressed up behind Bokuto, or because his father pointedly clears his throat from out in the hall. The changes are more subtle than that, and Keiji drops his head to hide the wide smile that spread across his face. Stopping it would be impossible, even if he wanted to. 

Keiji doesn't want to stop that smile. 

"Welcome home," Kuroo drawls as he brushes his fingers across Keiji's thighs. 

Keiji laughs, lowly, because those words are exactly what he needed to hear right now. He laughs because this is right where he wants to be. 

Bokuto stumbles back, no longer stable when Keiji surges forward to kiss Kuroo as well. Then his grip slips as the weight distribution abruptly changes, Keiji's legs around his waist the only thing holding Keiji in place. 

Keiji barely kisses Kuroo, just the slightest brush of their lips before they all stumble backwards, falling to the ground in a heap of limbs. It only makes Keiji laugh harder, his lungs aching from the effort of pulling himself free. 

A sigh echoes from somewhere behind them, but Keiji doesn't bother to look back at his father. As if he could do that with Bokuto and Kuroo underneath him, Bokuto blinking up at him with wide eyes and Kuroo slowly joining in on the laughter. Perfect, Keiji wants to tell them. Or close enough to perfect, because perfect would be Tsukishima standing off to the side, refusing to help any of them up. 

Tsukishima should be here tomorrow, though, under the guise of helping them unpack, but Keiji promises himself now that they'll video call him tonight. Tsukishima asked him not to forget the feeling of disconnection, of being parted from them, and Keiji has every intention of fulfilling that request. 

This next year will be easier than the one before it.

This next year will leave him surrounded by more love than Keiji ever thought possible. He knows this, because as he pulls himself up and reaches a hand out to Bokuto, that same love fills him to the brim. It makes him certain, reminds him of that moment out on the court, of his thigh, covered by three Marks and no cover slipped over them. There is no longer a need to hide his Marks, even momentarily. 

.

.

.

In the end, Tsukishima only stays in Tokyo for a single night. Keiji knows something is off as soon as Tsukishima walks through the front door, boxes still littered throughout the apartment. 

The explanation that Tsukishima immediately launches into helps as he follows Keiji inside, frustration hidden behind biting remarks about Kageyama. Actually, about Kageyama and Hinata, but there is the slightest pause before he mentions the latter, just long enough to clue Keiji into the fact that Hinata is not the root of the problem. Simply a contributing factor, and likely just as affected as Tsukishima is. 

Karasuno depends on teamwork more than most teams do. Which makes it understandable that their coach asked Tsukishima and Hinata to come to extra practices over the break, to make sure that they'll be up to the task of being captain and vice captain. Tsukishima must know that, otherwise he wouldn't accept those orders so easily. He wouldn't be going back to Miyagi three days before he planned to. 

Keiji listens to the entire explanation, carefully doing nothing more than grabbing his hand once the frustration clearly becomes too much for Tsukishima to bear alone. Ukai almost gave in, from Tsukishima's account. Except Kageyama made some comment about their soulmates being more important than Karasuno, and Hinata stopped fighting the orders. 

Not that it stopped Hinata from apologizing afterwards, sheepish from throwing both of them under the bus. 

"They're so stupid," Tsukishima groans, once the steam fades. 

Keiji hums, shifting on the new couch as he quietly thinks through the situation. "Maturity is certainly a weak point of theirs." 

"Wrong. Kageyama wouldn't be able to tell you what maturity means if you handed him a dictionary." 

A laugh escapes at the biting comment, light and unexpected. 

One day with Kuroo and Bokuto, and laughing has already gotten easier. The number of times he's found himself smiling at something or another these past twenty-four hours is undocumented. Being around the three of them does this to him, something he never wants to fade. 

Judging by the heavy look in Tsukishima's eyes, Keiji isn't the only one who feels that way. Their thighs are pressed together, and neither of them can use the couch as an excuse anymore. The apartment apparently came with one, already better than the small one Kuroo and Bokuto had before, so there's plenty of room for both of them to sit. Perhaps Tsukishima doesn't lean down to kiss him like Bokuto or Kuroo undoubtedly would, but he slumps against Keiji in a way that feels just as intimate. 

It feels even more intimate when the door opens a moment later, and Kuroo and Bokuto step inside, their argument coming to a stop once they see Keiji and Tsukishima. When Tsukishima doesn't stiffen, doesn't move away at the sight of them. 

Moments like this are what make Keiji look forward to all four of them living together. 

Just a year left to go. And one day of living with Kuroo and Bokuto has already left Keiji overwhelmed, his heart beating quickly in his chest that night as he lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. Everything is so new, so unlike anything they experienced in high school. 

This can be better than high school. 

Keiji is under no illusions that getting to that point will be without any troubles or that Keiji won't occasionally say things he shouldn't. Just as there will be moments where Bokuto gets upset over something minuscule, where a wall of teasing comments separates him from Kuroo, where Tsukishima insults him too viciously. 

But Keiji knows, as Bokuto finishes shoving groceries into the fridge and collapses on top of them, that the work will be worth it. Tsukishima groans at the added weight, which only pulls Kuroo in closer to ruffle his hair. Keiji smiles at the barked insult that follows, because this is everything he's wanted since his first volleyball practice at Fukurodani, since Kuroo whisked him away days later, since that training camp where Tsukishima would barely meet his eyes. 

Tsukishima has to leave before they know it, but time always moves too quickly when they're together. 

Each moment is never quite enough. 

.

.

.

All Keiji gets to adjust to their apartment, to living directly in Tokyo, is a couple weeks. 

This is far from the first time he's been in Tokyo. There were a handful of university tours he went on over the last year that would have changed that, but also trips with his parents. A few days here or there where they would insist on a short vacation into the city. 

Tokyo isn't what Keiji has to adjust to. 

Living with Kuroo and Bokuto is more than growing accustomed to sharing a bed. Although that is a part of that. Keiji finds himself stuck between Bokuto and the wall most nights, if not with Bokuto lying directly on top of him. Always touching, always refusing to pull away for even a moment. 

Worse than nearly suffocated by Bokuto most nights is the lack of privacy. The privacy of his own bed, one he can fall into when he's still worked up and needs a moment of relief. His hand only gives him so much relief, but two years of being in a relationship with Kuroo and Bokuto have left him no more certain of how to ask for more. 

Keiji has more cold showers in the two weeks leading up to the start of university than he ever has in his life. The interest was there before, of course, but easier to push aside than it is when two of the people he cares about are suddenly so close. Kissing becomes too much to handle after a week or so, no release in sight. He can't even tell if Kuroo and Bokuto are holding back on his account, or if they haven't reassessed their own boundaries. 

Both options are frustrating in their own ways. 

But the desire curled inside him with no place to go isn't the only thing that catches Keiji by surprise. One morning, he steps into the bathroom and finds a pair of dirty socks soaking in the sink. There doesn't appear to be a reason for them to be there. They have laundry machines in the basement, even if he doesn't see Kuroo or Bokuto use them. 

Then Keiji notices how Kuroo and Bokuto move around each other easily, when he gets an elbow to the gut when him and Kuroo brush their teeth at the same time.

And he goes to the store, only to realize he doesn't know what to buy. 

Keiji expected to fit in perfect. No need to readjust his schedule or change his habits, because those things should come with being soulmates. 

Except.

Except Keiji fits in the ways that matter, in soft kisses and sleepy mornings, in intertwined fingers as he curls up with Bokuto on their new couch. And that's it. There is no space for him in the bed, in anything more than a peck on the lips, in morning routines and grocery shopping. 

Kuroo and Bokuto seem oblivious, continuing on with their lives without pause, so this could be temporary. Keiji can handle a couple months of this if that's all it takes for the edges to smooth. 

But these edges tug at him in strange ways. They catch at him, make him hesitate to hold his chopsticks the same way he always has, urge him to join Bokuto on his morning runs. It helps in some ways, but Bokuto still spends his nights glued to Keiji's side and Keiji still doesn't know how to react. 

These feelings churn inside him, even though going to his university orientation should have helped. Kuroo and Bokuto start going to practice more frequently once the semester starts up, and it almost makes Keiji wish he had his own training to do. That feeling increases tenfold when Bokuto comes home after practice, hair wet from his shower and vibrating with too much unspent energy. 

Keiji gets the lightest kiss before Bokuto shifts away, laughing about something or another. 

That moment gets turned over in his head again and again, his classes not demanding enough of his attention to prevent him from overthinking it. His program begins with general studies, and Keiji knows within a couple weeks that none of his classes will challenge him. Which leaves him mapping out possibilities and trying to remember how to navigate his relationship. 

All he comes up with are blanks. 

As if a year of being away from them has wiped his memory of what to do and how to act. As if there is a chasm separating him from the others, while Keiji hasn't the slightest idea how to cross it. 

Maybe that's what brings him to Kuroo's university after his classes are done for the day, a couple weeks after classes have started. Or it might be Kuroo spending two hours on the court, almost all of which Keiji can spend watching from the otherwise empty stands. Keiji doesn't warn Kuroo about his presence, doesn't think about what he's doing until he's sitting in a plastic seat. 

Two hours of watching Kuroo practice is akin to torture. His video calls with Tsukishima every couple days only do so much, and there is something about watching Kuroo on the court. Something about how fluidly he moves that makes Keiji's breath catch, unable to tear his gaze away. Then Kuroo tugs at his shirt, sweat making it stick to his chest, and heat washes over Keiji as he gets a momentary glimpse of what's underneath. 

It makes him wants more. 

It makes Keiji want everything, desire and guilt at war with one another by the time practice ends. No one would fault him for watching his boyfriend's practice, but Keiji still feels as if he's trespassing on something. 

He hesitates as he leaves the stands, but the changing room door is right there. He can't force himself to leave quite yet, even as the pros and cons of leaving flit through his head as he waits. The biggest con is that Kuroo would be hurt if he knew Keiji was here and didn't even say hello, and that is what stops him more than anything else. 

A number of people filter out of the change rooms before Kuroo. Most of them ignore him, but a few slow down on their way out and nod at him. A couple more wave, and Keiji guesses that they watched Nationals. It might not be common knowledge who his soulmates are, but Kuroo's Marks would make it obvious. Unless Kuroo circulates pictures of him throughout the team, just in case he stops by. Or because Kuroo wants to, because he wants people to know who his soulmates are. 

Kuroo is laughing when he steps out into the hall. Keiji can hardly breathe, a knot stuck in his throat, but Kuroo laughs, warm and bring and everything Keiji has missed these past few weeks. 

"Akaashi?" Kuroo starts, stopping outside the doorway. 

Keiji is somewhat aware of his teammates saying goodbye before starting down the hall, but that is secondary to everything else. To Kuroo standing in front of him, his shirt tight across his chest and a grin spreading across his face. 

"Kuroo," Keiji says, and the ground moves beneath his feet. It isn't actually moving, but it feels that way, as unsteady and uncertain as he is. "I came to watch you practice," he settles on. 

Kuroo's grin grows wider, crooked in the corner. "You did." 

"You... already knew that," Keiji says, immediately recognizing the knowing look directed at him. 

"Uh-huh. You were spotted pretty quickly, you know. That was sloppy of you, Akaashi." 

Kuroo makes a show of letting his gaze rake over Keiji, before he takes a subtle step forward and Keiji's mind goes blank. The hallway is wide, which is the only justification for the long steps Kuroo takes towards him. Each step has Keiji reconsidering his plan of action, has him considering that perhaps he should have had a plan of action. 

But it is too late for that now. Any plan of action Keiji thought up would have had to be immediately revised, anyways, because Kuroo does not stop until Keiji can feel his breath, soft and warm against his own lips. They linger there, not moving until Keiji tilts his head upwards and they kiss for the first time in what might be an eternity. The kiss itself is slow, but not chaste. Wants bubbles beneath the surface, more than what Keiji knows what to do with. 

Then Kuroo pulls back, and the last bit of patience Keiji has snaps. His hand sneaks around to bring Kuroo back in, tugging them both backwards until his back is flush against the wall. Surging upwards is easier like this, arms wrapped around Kuroo's neck and refusing to let go. 

Kuroo grins against his lips and kisses back hard, giving as good as he gets. A victory, in Keiji's books, but not as much as the tight grip on his hips is. 

"I wasn't expecting a welcome like this," Kuroo says, when they part to breathe. Their lips still brush together as he speaks, but even that distance is too much. "But I'm not complaining." 

"You're not?" Keiji asks. 

His question is more bitter than Keiji intends it to be, and he recoils at the sound of his own voice. There isn't much room left, but he takes advantage of it, biting at the inside of his cheek as waits for Kuroo to respond. 

It occurs to Keiji as he leans against the wall, attempting to catch his breath, that they actually haven't done anything like this before. High school was different, their own hesitations about Tsukishima restricting them to the occasional making out. Keiji is aware that his parents believed they were doing far more than they did, given the box of condoms that appeared on his desk one day. 

If that's what this is. But Keiji cannot deny that he wants to pull Kuroo back into a kiss, even as that wide grin fades away and he looks down at Keiji with dark eyes. 

He wants more. 

Then a couple people step out of the change room, and the moment breaks at their conversation, a blatant reminder that they're standing in the middle of a hall. They stop talking once they notice Kuroo and Keiji, but the moment is already ruined as they hurry down the hall. 

Kuroo steps back, sighing as he absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair. "We should probably go." 

"Probably," Keiji agrees, and they fall in line as they start down the hall. Silence presses in from all sides, unable to let Keiji decide what that just was. "I hope your practice isn't unexpectedly awkward tomorrow." 

"Awkward?" Kuroo asks, glancing at Keiji from the corner of his eye. 

Keiji nods, before he steps forward to open the door leading outside. "You mentioned that my attempt at sneaking in was sloppy, did you not?" 

Kuroo stops in the doorway, a giggle breaking free before he presses his fingers to his lips. Not that it stops the next batch of laughter, leaving Keiji to watch in wonder at the sight. 

Stopping the fond smile that overtakes him would be impossible at the best of times. And now, Keiji makes no effort to hide it, even though Kuroo spots it immediately, then pulls his hand away from his mouth to laugh properly. He throws an arm over Keiji's shoulders a moment later, and they step outside together. A few people walk along the main path, but they have no pull over him. 

Nothing would take Keiji away from this contact, so different from the way that Bokuto touches him. That only happens while he's sleeping, while all the bright smiles and unassuming questions prevent Keiji from taking it further. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

Keiji blinks at the abrupt question, distracted by the way Kuroo fits against his side. "Say what?" 

"Don't play oblivious, you dick," Kuroo says as he rolls his eyes. "That kiss. It... wasn't like our other kisses recently." 

"Oh, that." 

"Yes,  _ that _ ." 

Putting his answer into words is difficult. 

It would be easier to focus on the weight of Kuroo's arm over his shoulders or their indirect path to the bus stop. Even the faint smell of sweat from Kuroo's practice should be enough to redirect the conversation. 

Except Keiji doesn't want to redirect the conversation, not really. Avoiding the subject hasn't been working well for him so far, and Kuroo will only bring it up again, but this time when Keiji isn't expecting it. There have been opportunities for Keiji to reach out to them. He knows that. 

Keiji also knows that he hasn't taken advantage of any of them, no matter how much he wants and craves and desires. 

"I don't know," is what slips out. 

Kuroo frowns, just visible from the corner of Keiji's eye. "You could have said, 'Oh, great Kuroo-senpai, please kiss me until I can no longer breathe,' and I would have done just that. Kou is a bit oblivious about these things, but that - you know, I've wanted that for a long time." 

"Tsukishima could explain it better than I can." Keiji knows he shouldn't have said that the moment the words come out of his mouth, but he doesn't stop there. He can't stop there. "This past year was... strange. There weren't nearly as many opportunities to see each other." 

"You're here now. And we've been working on Tsukki to visit." 

It nearly sounds like Kuroo is begging. "Yes, it's just-" Keiji cuts himself off, grimaces, because he doesn't quite know what he's defending. "Going from nothing to everything comes with its own difficulties." 

Being with them all the time is something Keiji needs to adjust to, and he needs Kuroo to understand that. He needs someone to know that he wants them here, right beside him. 

Kuroo watches him for a long time, not saying a word. At this slow pace, with the bus stop long since forgotten and Keiji pressed close to him, the rest of the world should be easy to forget. But Keiji finds himself lingering on the stray sakura petal caught in Kuroo's hair, on the tension building in his own chest. 

Tsukishima understood the sensation of being away from them without Keiji needing to explain it properly. The loneliness that comes from being separated, from watching Kuroo and Bokuto live out their lives on their own terms. Except now Keiji isn't certain that putting those feelings into words will help. 

"Can I do anything to make that easier?" Kuroo asks, softly. 

Tension drains out of him, and Keiji smiles, a soft thing that shifts into a smirk not a second later. "You can," he says. "You can kiss me until I can't breathe." 

Kuroo laughs. "You forgot a part." 

"Did I?" 

"'Oh, great Kuroo-senpai-'"

"So, I forgot nothing," Keiji cuts in, easily. 

"Akaashi!" 

Keiji laughs, half expecting to be pushed away because of the comment. 

That doesn't happen. Rather, Kuroo pulls him in closer and holds onto him, as if Keiji might just disappear in front of his very eyes. It would take more than this to make Keiji leave, but admitting that would be a bit like putting his entire being on display. 

He doesn't want this moment to end, now that it's started. Keiji hadn't realized that these moments were included in everything he's missed, hadn't thought about much other than kissing and touching and rolling his hips against another person. 

"You know, Kou's worried," Kuroo says, deceptively light. 

Keiji pauses, then sighs. "I know." 

He hadn't. 

Not until Kuroo just mentioned it, but that seems obvious now. Bokuto sleeps on top of him most night, hovers around him wordlessly throughout the day, as if he doesn't quite know what to say. Keiji should have noticed, because that always comes easily to him. Bokuto was always simple to understand. 

Except Keiji forgot to look at every angle. Perhaps because life does not play out the same way it does on a volleyball court. Keiji hides a grimaces, because he never should have expected Bokuto to push anything further than Keiji told him he could. Bokuto will push at boundaries all he wants, but he would never do anything he wasn't entirely certain the rest of them wanted. 

Keiji pushes that aside, then glances back up at Kuroo with a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I suppose I'll have to ask the great Bokuto to kiss me as well." 

.

.

.

Keiji doesn't ask Bokuto to kiss him. 

Nor does he gather up the courage to kiss Kuroo like that again, not even as they both silently laid in bed. 

Kuroo disappears to study at the library early the next morning, up and moving long before Keiji expects him to wake. It isn't that he thought one kiss would fix everything, but a part of him thought it might change something. 

Neither of them have truly talked a week later, and Keiji sits in his writing class and stares at a blank page. The prompt is up on the board and the clock ticks down, cutting the time shorter and shorter. 

Out of all the classes Keiji is taking this year, this class challenges him the most. Math has set answers, and given the right tools, he can find those answers. At the same time, the science is mostly memorization at this point, none of which sparks his interest. Certainly not in the way that Kuroo and Yaku are interested in it, not that Keiji has heard any hour-long debates recently. 

Writing is different. 

Most of the class is dedicated to essay writing, so that everyone will be prepared to write papers next year or even next semester. 

Those aren't the classes that throw Keiji off guard. The brief dips into creative writing are what pull at him, because there is no clear answer or method to creative writing. 

At first, the class was told to write whatever came to mind. No warning, nothing. Just fifteen minutes of writing at the beginning of class, and Keiji spent most of those fifteen minutes staring blankly at the paper in front of him. Then he writes about his curiosity, about how well Fukurodani is performing this year. There is more to it than that, bits and pieces of whether they've taken his advice to heart or if they decided to create the team anew. 

That assignment gets a mediocre mark, and Keiji turns it over in his head for an entire week. It was grammatically perfect, and the prompt was open enough that talking about Fukurodani should have fulfilled it. A comment is written along the bottom of the page, but that is nothing more than a request for Keiji to show more personality in his writing. 

What dictates personality in a piece of writing is difficult to put together. Keiji doesn't even know how to ask the question he wants to ask, how he would go about making the professor understand his confusion. 

Writing becomes a challenge, slowly at first, then all at once. 

This prompt, only the second or third of the semester, is no different than what came before. Keiji stares at it, written up on the board, the clock ticking down, and something clicks into place. 

There is still thirteen minutes left when Keiji starts writing this time. Only a couple of his classmates have started, but there is no reason to wait for the words to pour out of him, not quite poetry or prose. These words aren't quite anything except the itch underneath his skin made anew, fragments of feelings that he doesn't know how to voice. 

Each words lifts a bit more weight off his shoulders, and Keiji spends the rest of the class in a daze. But as much of a daze as when the assignment is returned to him a week later, a request to meet with his professor directly below the mark. Odd that this is what makes him see the situation around him more clearly. 

Odd that Keiji knows what he wants after responding to a prompt about Marks. 


End file.
